


Waves That Rolled You Under

by LunaCatriona



Series: Waves That Rolled You Under [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaCatriona/pseuds/LunaCatriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never could see, I never could see, the waves that rolled you under..."</p><p>The waves have started rolling Bernie Wolfe below the water, but can she let herself break through the surface?</p><p>Bit of a trigger warning for later chapters (suicide etc.)</p><p>Completed, with sequel story coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enemy Fire

She never intended to go to war, at least not with her husband. She definitely had not intended to end up in battle with herself, either; she had quickly discovered that she was her own foe most of the time. Leaving the Army was another thing she had not intended to do, but she wasn't given a lot of choice in the matter.

She had not intended to find her best friend here, either, and she certainly did not intend to fall in love with that best friend – particularly while said friend was kicking and screaming just to be able to keep her head above the water. She had not intended to find herself with her own unit to run alongside her friend, nor had she intended to keep hurting her.

Why was it that Berenice Wolfe always ended up doing exactly the thing she had never intended to do?

So, whether she intended to end up here or not, here she stood in Pulses, the hospital café, while she wondered how AAU would look when she got back to it. On the screen in the corner of the room, there was a report on a mass shooting; the girl behind the coffee counter turned up the volume a little so she could hear what was going on. It seemed there were a dozen dead, and over twenty injured.

With a sigh, Bernie turned to order her coffee, and took out her phone to check for messages, though why she even did this anymore was beyond her. There was nobody left to send her any pleasant messages. So she put the phone back into the pocket of her hoodie and took the paper cup that was handed, and paid the girl who served her.

It happened suddenly.

Gunshots rang out from the corner of the room. Bernie's grip on her coffee loosened – it fell out of her hand and fell to the floor, the hot liquid splattering on her feet. She followed her instinct and pulled the nearest table and hid behind it, all the while cursing the fact that she was unarmed.

Listening for what everyone else was doing, she dared not break cover. Nobody else could be heard scrambling for shelter. There were no screams. Why was nobody doing anything?

A tall figure stood over her, and she instantly brought her arms up over her head; her vision impaired, she couldn't make out who loomed over her.

_The heat of the Afghan sun blazed overhead; running furiously, she hoped to get to her fallen comrade before enemy fire could reach them, but she knew it was an improbability._

_However, by some miracle, she reached the young soldier, but heard the gunfire gaining in volume as her allies tried to ward off the enemy. She put her hands briefly on her own weapon, for the reassurance that it was really there should she need it – she had a bad feeling about this._

_Bernie tended to the injured man as quickly as she could, trying to stabilise him enough to be able to move him back to camp. The gunfire was deafening now; she could have sworn the were standing right next to her, the noise that came off her comrades as they defended her position._

_But when she lifted her head, her sight half-dazzled by the blinding sun, she was met with the realisation that she was about to come under enemy fire herself. Hurtling towards her was a man, brandishing an automatic weapon. He had slipped through the battle lines to finish off the medic, it seemed._

_There was nothing else for it._

_Kill or be killed._

_Bernie lifted her weapon, aimed and fired. Her aim perfect, she only need to fire once – the enemy crumpled to the ground with a soft thump she knew she must have imagined. The odds of hearing anything at all in this hell hole were astronomical._

“Ms. Wolfe,” a voice rang out at her. The figure before her had crouched down, and when she saw him, she flinched. This was not, in fact, a militant, however. It was only when her vision corrected itself enough to see Henrik Hanssen's face opposite her. “Ms. Wolfe, it was only on the television. There was footage of the mass shooting on the news.”

Feeling like a fool, Bernie put her head in her hands, She, in her rush of adrenaline, had forgotten about that damned news report. Hanssen reached out a hand to her, which she took, and helped her to her feet. Upon looking around, she saw people were staring at her. Their expressions ranged from amused, to bewildered, to concerned for her sanity. Thankfully, though, it seemed the table she had taken cover behind had been unoccupied, so there was no disgruntled customer to give her sincere apologies to.

Seeing the coffee cup emptied onto the floor, Bernie stepped over the mess, and headed towards AAU, daring not to look around her again. She didn't want to see the looks on the faces of bystanders.

Bernie had seen this happen a hundred times before. She just never believed it would happen to her.

Hanssen was following her. She knew better than to think he wouldn't do that. There was nothing to do but get a grip on herself by the time she reached the unit. The last thing she needed was for Serena to know that she had just trashed Pulses because she had thought they were under enemy fire.

She buzzed herself into AAU and ignored Hanssen while she took the newest file from Raf for something to do. Her mind elsewhere, she headed towards the patient and started examining him. It was a simple case of fractured wrist, and he'd already been looked at by Raf, but she examined him anyway, trying to ignore the fact that Hanssen was having a conversation with Serena at the nurses' station.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bernie noted Serena's look of shock and concern. She strode back to the nurses station, unable to draw out an unnecessary examination. By the time she'd got there, Hanssen had finished speaking with Serena, and had turned away to leave the ward, and Serena was left to watch Bernie pretend to go about her business.

She knew it was coming.

“Bernie, can I have a word, please?” asked Serena.

“Sure, what's up?” Bernie answered casually, bending over the computer and logging on, even thought she didn't need to be on the computer at all. She was just doing all she could to avoid Serena's piercing stare at this point.

“In private?”

Bernie closed her eyes and sighed. She wasn't in the mood for this. All she wanted was for this to be left alone, and for it never to happen again. But, this was also a discussion she knew Serena needed to have, and one that Bernie did not want to have within earshot of the entire ward.

So, grudgingly, she straightened herself and headed to their shared office; as usual, her own side was a tip and Serena's was reasonably tidy. She sat down at her desk and started sorting the paperwork out into its various piles. The door quietly closed and she waited for the barrage. There was no doubt in Bernie's mind that Serena would pull her up for publicly making a mess of the hospital café. It was a daft thing to have done; she was quite ashamed that she had done it.

“Hanssen told me,” Serena informed her, keeping her voice low.

“Told you what?” Bernie replied, a little too quickly in her attempts to sound offhand about the whole thing.

“Bernie.”

“Serena,” she replied, sarcasm working as her barrier between the present moment and what she knew was coming.

Serena was sitting on the edge of Bernie's desk – she saw the black trousered leg as she picked up a folder next to Serena – waiting for a sensible answer. Well, she could wait here until next Christmas and she still wasn't getting a reasonable answer. Not if Bernie could help it. That was the only way to avoid the conversation.

For about another minute, Bernie tirelessly focussed on organising her desk, until it was neater than either of them had ever seen it. So she moved on to actually _doing_ the paperwork. God knows it needed done. She was too good at neglecting it. But as she reached over for a pen from the tub, Serena's hand stopped hers from retrieving it. “Bernie. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Bernie retorted, her tone snappy and impatient now. “Can I do my paperwork now?”

“Hanssen said you made a mess of Pulses.”

“Pulses is always a mess, Serena.”

Bernie heard the exasperated sigh that escaped Serena, but what was she meant to do about that? It wasn't Bernie's fault Serena was getting all antsy about something so stupid. But Serena was not going to let it go, and she should have known better than to think it would be easy to make her do so. “Bernie. Please. You said you wouldn't lie to me.”

Bernie finally looked up. She had indeed told Serena she wouldn't lie to her again, but this was different. This could have no affect upon Serena. She couldn't allow that. It wouldn't be fair at all. “I wasn't lying. Pulses _is_ always a mess. You'd think people had never heard of a bin before.”

“Why did you knock a table over and take cover under it?”

“Don't do this,” warned Bernie.

“Do what?”

“Interrogate me.”

“I'm not.”

“You are, Serena.”

“I'm _not_!” Serena exclaimed.

In frustration, Bernie slammed her hand down on the newly cleared desk, and bellowed, “Yes, you _are_!”

It was enough to stun Serena into silence, and Bernie had to take the good of it while it lasted. She needed to get her story straight. After all, she couldn't really say that the sound of gunfire on the television had convinced her that her life was in danger; how could she explain the memories and the hurt it brought back? She would sound insane.

Part of her wanted to crumble. There was something inside her that was sick of having to be strong, and tired of being a soldier. That side of her just wanted to be held by Serena, to know she was not alone and that the next time this happened, she wouldn't have to hide it. That the next nightmare she had, she could wake up next to someone who gave a damn about her.

But there was also the soldier in her. The soldier who didn't know anything different, who needed to protect Serena from this rather than lean on her. Serena didn't need this, on top of everything else. She had enough on her plate with the new Trauma Unit and Jason without listening to Bernie's daft notions.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Serena spoke again. “Bernie, I'm not interrogating you. I just want to know so I can help you in any way I can. You're my friend.”

“And you're mine.”

There was the very reason she couldn't tell Serena exactly what happened. Hanssen could only have given what he had seen, and so could not let Serena know just what happened in Bernie's head when she dived for cover.

Serena's hand reached out and fell onto Bernie's shoulder. “Please, just tell me what happened to you in there.” Serena's face was soft and inviting, making Bernie wish she could just grow a pair and kiss her. To tell her she loved her. But she couldn't do that, either, for the same reason that she couldn't explain what happened in Pulses.

Bernie stood up, her height forcing her to look down into Serena's dark eyes, though she felt about two inches tall at the moment. What she wouldn't give to be able to just fall into Serena, to let her take the anxiety and the fear away. Even as she thought this, she found herself leaning in slightly, their noses almost touching. She reached out and pushed Serena's fringe to the side, and murmured, “I can't, Serena.”

With that, she walked out of the office, not bothering to shut the door, and to the nurses' station. When she looked back, as she always did after a conversation with Serena Campbell, she saw that her best friend had what seemed to be tears in her eyes. Bernie felt a rush of guilt surge through her, hitting her like a punch to the gut; she could see how Serena longed to see beyond the façade, but she couldn't bring herself to let it down when the stakes were this high – not even in front of Serena.

What if, should Bernie let Serena in, she just took one look at the war wounds and ran a mile? What was Bernie meant to do then?

“Damn it, Serena, I hate hurting you,” sighed Bernie.


	2. Tightrope

Bernie stood outside of the main entrance to the hospital, taking out of her pocket a packet of cigarettes; somehow, she had survived this shift and was allowing herself a well-deserved smoke break before she jumped in her car to head home. Today had not been easy. She had spent most of her afternoon dodging worried glances and hushed whispers, trying to pretend that Serena didn't really care that much so that she wouldn't feel so guilty about pushing her out.

Somehow, she didn't think it was working. She knew damn well that Serena was extremely worried – that much had been written all over her face – but she didn't want to feel bad. Bernie did not want to feel like she was hurting Serena; as awful as that sounded, it was how she felt.

“I would ask how you are feeling, Ms. Wolfe, but I don't expect you to give me an honest answer,” a low voice said behind her.

It made Bernie jump halfway out her skin. “Damn it, Mr. Hanssen, someone needs to put a bell on you,” she exclaimed, as she turned around to see the tall, looming Swede standing behind her. “One of these days, you're going to give me a heart attack.”

“I assure you that it's not my intention to frighten anyone.”

“I know that,” sighed Bernie, leaning forward onto the railing. “Look, about what happened earlier...I'm very sorry.”

She felt Hanssen draw near, and he mimicked her stance over the railing. “Apparently, you owe Staff Nurse O'Connell from the Children's Ward a new pair of socks,” he informed her. Bernie's head whipped around, only to see the closest to a playful smirk she'd ever seen don his face. She gently elbowed him in the ribs with a small smile herself, unable to dismiss his effort to find some humour in her predicament.

Bernie sighed. She thought again of Serena, and how the woman seemed to _need_ to know what was going on in Bernie's head; as well as she knew that Serena was the sort of person to help her rather than judge her, she couldn't bring herself to explain what happened in Pulses. And the fact that she was in this position was down to Hanssen – he just had to go and tell Serena, didn't he?

“Why did you inform Serena?” she quietly demanded, though she left no room for evasion in her tone.

To her surprise, Hanssen did not even attempt to dodge the question. “I wanted Ms. Campbell to find out from me, rather than someone who might exaggerate or misconstrue what they saw,” he said. “And I also wanted someone who really cares about you to know that you're having some problems. You might not think so, Ms. Wolfe, but Ms. Campbell has come to care about you a great deal. One might even say she loves you. Who better for me to inform of your difficulties?”

Bernie stared at him. “What was that last bit?” she asked, feeling slightly dumbfounded.

“Hasn't it ever occurred to you that you're far closer to Ms. Campbell than most people get to be?”

It had, but she wasn't about to admit that to Hanssen. She had noted how close a physical proximity she was allowed to Serena, where most did not dare go that close. She had seen the softness in Serena's dark eyes when she looked at Bernie, and how she was quick off the mark to interact with Bernie while she often preferred to keep her conversations on the efficient side.

“I think,” Hanssen continued, “you have something along the lines of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That is nothing to be ashamed of. You've been on the front line of so many war zones, I'd be more surprised if it hadn't scarred you at all. But I also think you ought to confide in Ms. Campbell.”

Bernie looked down at the concrete on which she stood, and as solid as that was, she felt she was on shaking land. She knew he was right. How could he not be, with his observational skills? “I guess I should go home,” she murmured, not really knowing what to say. “Thanks for the chat, Henrik,” she smiled, her hand lingering on his arm for only a moment before she headed towards her car.

Walking through the car park, Bernie found her legs wanted to turn back to the hospital. To Serena. To the comfort she knew Serena could give her. But she forced them, unwilling though they were, to the driver's side door of her car. Hanssen was watching her still, and even from this distance she could perceive a knowing look upon his thin face. She opened the door and put one foot in the car, still looking over at Hanssen, and still thinking of Serena.

Resigned to the fact she was going to end up stuck in a room with Serena at some stage, Bernie stepped back out and slammed the door shut. A little displeased with how easily she had folded, she strode back across the car park and past Hanssen, fixing him with a glare. “Don't look so smug, Henrik, it doesn't suit you,” she informed him waspishly. She was happy to note that he was quite taken aback by her forthrightness.

If Bernie was honest with herself, the place she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world right now was in Serena's arms. What had happened today had been terrifying, but she wasn't ready to admit as much; she had to at least try not to get into an argument with Serena. As Hanssen had pointed out, Serena was on her side because she cared.

It was strange. When she had arrived at Holby, the very last person she had envisioned herself needing – really _needing_ , like she needed air to breathe and ground to walk on – was Serena Campbell.

And yet, Serena was the person she needed now. Strange, the difference a few months could make.

After all, what if Hanssen was right? What if Bernie was in fact experiencing PTSD? What then? Would she have to go to therapy? Would she have to go on medication? How deep did this monster run in her?

She'd had the nightmares but she had never expected to evade them, either. She'd seen so much combat that it was almost a certainty that her subconscious was going to replay some things in her sleep. But she had never expected it to strike during waking hours. Never had she thought that she could be triggered whilst awake and working and living her life.

That was the long and short of it: she was terrified. Terrified of having to go through that again, of having to relive the worst moments of her life, of Serena abandoning her, of her driving Serena out...she was afraid of losing Serena. How many times had she almost pushed an immovable wedge between them? She was scared that she would do the same again.

Bernie reached the double doors and buzzed herself onto AAU; she stepped through the doors and looked around. The ward was finally beginning to simmer down. If she had not been in such an awful place, today would have been a good laugh on the ward. They'd had a couple of really colourful characters on the unit, including a young woman who reminded her a bit of Luna Lovegood in Harry Potter – believed in anything that could not be proved as even being in existence. However, she had been an exceptionally kind and wise girl, though she had somehow managed to get a tablespoon stuck in her thigh, the handle driven upwards into her leg.

But all day, she had walked around with her chest tight and her limbs tingling, jumping at every clatter and bang. Anxiety had filled her to the point that, at the end of her shift, she had been fighting to breathe steadily, and she was proud of herself for just getting outside for a cigarette without incident.

She caught sight of Serena, who still had another half an hour left of her shift, as she was to finish an hour later than Bernie today. The brunette was standing at the nurses' station, signing a sheet on a clipboard.

How bizarre, that the person she needed most in the world was standing right in front of her. It wasn't Marcus, and it wasn't Alex. It was Serena's embrace she needed.

In the end, it was that need and the instinct to fulfil it that took over. Bernie let her handbag fall with a loud clunk of all the junk it contained; the noise caused Serena to look around, her expression one of worry and confusion.

Bernie half-ran over the ward and engulfed Serena in her arms, pressing her face into a warm neck and inhaling the scent of good perfume, coffee and shampoo. “Bernie,” Serena gasped in surprise, though her arms did wrap themselves tightly around Bernie's body, pulling her close. “Bernie, are you alright?”

In one embrace, Bernie tried her utmost to tell Serena the things she couldn't say.

“I'm not OK.”

“Don't let me run away.”

“I need you to help me.”

“I'm scared.”

“Don't leave me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I love you.”

But she said nothing. Not aloud, anyway. The way Serena held her brought a solid lump into Bernie's throat. She tried her best to swallow it back but it was no good – the silent tears poured into Serena's shirt, and there was nothing Bernie could do to stop it. Everything was just too much now. Before today, she was managing to walk that tightrope just well enough to keep her from falling. But she had stumbled, and now she was hanging from the tightrope, the palms of her hands red raw from holding on.

Who was she trying to kid when she made out like that incident in Pulses was nothing? It was everything. It was the evidence that she was war wounded, even now. The panic that had overcome her today was not something she was used to, and it scared her out of her wits.

“Bernie,” Serena murmured into her ear. “Bernie, you're worrying me now. What's wrong? What's happened?”

“Serena,” choked Bernie, sobbing hard now. “Serena...”

It crossed Bernie's mind that half of AAU must now have been watching the two entwined consultants, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Selfishly, she only cared that she had Serena. That she had her best friend. She was just relieved that Serena wasn't rejecting her, and she was here to hold her and rub her back as the pent up anxiety took her.

Serena put Bernie at arms length, her hands on the tear stained face before her. Their eyes met, and Serena's intense stare was a plea for Bernie to speak, for her to tell her what was wrong. And all Bernie could get out of her mouth was a strangled, “I n-need you.”

“Why? What's wrong, Bernie?”

“I c-can't,” Bernie sobbed. “I can't t-tell y-you. I c-cant s-say it!”

Why couldn't she stop these damned tears? Why couldn't she get a grip on her emotions? Why was she sobbing like a toddler here, and why wasn't it getting any better with the release of emotion the breakdown provided?

“Is it about what happened in Pulses today?”

Unable to speak, Bernie could only manage a stiff nod.

Fletch suddenly was standing at Bernie's side, holding her handbag for her and gently squeezing her shoulder. “It's OK, Bernie,” he comforted her softly. “Serena, why don't you take her into your office and I'll shout you if we need you?” he suggested, probably seeing that neither surgeon was thinking coherently right now.

He bent in towards Serena slightly and whispered to her, “I think she's having an anxiety attack.”

And he was right. This was not an outburst of emotion. This was anxiety that didn't have anywhere else to go.

He guided them into Serena and Bernie's office, and set the bag down upon Serena's desk. He smiled slightly at Bernie and ruffled her hair, knowing he would get off with it just this once as a gesture of affection. He left them to a deafening silence, broken only by Bernie's ragged breathing and strangled sobs as she struggled to contain her sudden episode of crippling fear, anxiety and panic.

“Hanssen reckons you were showing symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Serena quietly told her. She grasped Bernie's hand, and Bernie squeezed so tight she was surprised Serena didn't wince in pain. “Do you think he's right? Is that what you're scared of?”

Bernie couldn't find a verbal answer. She couldn't say those words. She didn't want to.

“Are you frightened that you might have PTSD?”

Bernie coughed, finding it difficult to catch her breath; she did the only thing she could think of. She fell into Serena and hoarsely cried, “H-help m-me.”


	3. Thick Skin and Thicker Skull

It took a while to get Bernie fit for speech, never mind any sort of explanation. Serena could only help Bernie breathe and calm her down, for whatever was happening to her friend was panicking her to no end. “Bernie,” Serena quietly began, once Bernie was reasonably calm, “are you alright?”

It was a stupid question – she realised that after she asked it – but it was also a necessary one. Even though Serena expected the knee-jerk answer of, “Yeah, fine,” she had to ask so that Bernie had something to start on. After all, the woman was sitting in a desk chair in the aftermath of an anxiety attack.

But to Serena's astonishment, Bernie did not say she was fine; in response to the question, she shook her head. She sighed and took Bernie's hands into hers. In her need to reassure Bernie, she considered sharing her own experience with mental illness. The only person she'd ever mentioned it to in this place was Guy Self, and only so she could help him to help Zosia. Serena was doubtful of how much good that could do here, though. This was Bernie. Beautiful, brilliant, seemingly broken Bernie. It was different.

Until now, she hadn't realised just how emotionally attached to Bernie she had really become in the past few months. To see her like this...it broke Serena's heart. To see Bernie in pain distressed Serena, but she couldn't let that show if she was to help Bernie out of this spot she was in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked tentatively.

Bernie gazed up at her, like she was debating her answer. Serena could see both sides of that debate: if Bernie spoke about it, it meant that she had an ally and less pressure, but it also left her in the vulnerable position of having someone know what was causing her pain, and trusting them to handle it well.

“I'm...it was the TV,” Bernie murmured. “Gunfire on the television. I took it as enemy fire and took cover.” She shook her head slightly, her now-shaggy hair falling into her face. “I'm such an idiot, Serena.”

Serena thought on that for a moment. Bernie was not stupid – of course she wasn't – but how could Serena convince her of this? And out of nowhere, it struck her. “How many soldiers have you known who have ended up with PTSD?” she demanded.

“I've lost count,” Bernie said, letting out a short, bitter bark of a laugh.

“And are they stupid?”

“Of course not, but-”

“But nothing. You are not stupid, Berenice Wolfe.”

Bernie was staring up at her with a confused expression, almost as if wondering what language Serena was speaking. How was Bernie going to be able to deal wit this on top of everything else? Was there enough space left in her head to allow for another personal crisis? And what to say to Hanssen? Would he just force Bernie to a counsellor she didn't want to see? Or would he leave her in Serena's hands? Not that Serena minded watching over Bernie, not in the slightest, but she wasn't all too sure of what to do with this situation.

Obviously, Bernie was in no state to be going home alone. That was out of the question – what if she had another anxiety attack and there was nobody there to help her out of it? “You're staying at mine tonight, alright?”

“I don't need to,” Bernie instantly argued, as Serena never doubted she would do. “I'll be fine on my own.”

“Bernie, you don't have to be alone. You don't need to deal with this by yourself.”

Bernie eyed her with caution, and Serena knew she was trying to work out just how hell-bent her friend was on the issue of spending the night alone. It was written in Bernie's face that she would very much like the companionship and emotional security of staying with a friend, but she didn't want to take it. “You're sure it's not too much trouble?” Bernie finally relented.

“Don't be daft,” Serena chuckled, patting Bernie's thigh gingerly.

“What about my car? And work tomorrow?”

“I'll take you in. We're doing the same shift anyway.”

Bernie hesitated before she said, her voice hoarse and low, “Thank you, Serena.”

Serena smiled. “You're welcome. I'm just going to tell the night shift I'm heading home and then we'll go, alright?”

Bernie nodded, and Serena left the office and went out onto the ward to approach Fletch. To her surprise, Hanssen was sitting at the nurses' station, clearly waiting for something. “I'm going to head home now,” she told them both, wondering what Hanssen was here for.

“Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen said. “I hear she was rather upset.”

“Understatement of the century,” Serena sighed, leaning against the desk, facing Fletch, with Hanssen on the inside of the nurses' station. “Bernie's had an anxiety attack. She's alright,” she hastily added when concern washed over Hanssen's face. “She's going to stay with me tonight; I don't like the thought of her being alone after a day like today, and she's not fit to drive.”

Fletch and Hanssen shared an irritatingly knowing look that Serena was too tired and too focused upon Bernie to pull them up for. Instead, she made a mental note to interrogate one of them when she was more able for it.

“Has she said anything about the possibility of PTSD?” Hanssen asked.

“Not in so many words, but she seems to know that it's probably the culprit.”

Fletch looked over her shoulder to the office, at Bernie sitting rather dishevelled in the chair. “A woman as smart as Bernie knows exactly what it is, even if she won't admit it. She must have seen it a hundred times before.”

“Yes, I think that's part of the problem,” Serena sighed, knowing full well that Bernie would fight the diagnosis because she had seen her comrades suffer the same fate.

“I think Ms. Wolfe is safe in your capable hands, Ms. Campbell,” Hanssen said gently. “I can think of nobody better she could have on her side than you. No doubt she will need the ones who love her most to take the time to get to know this part of her.”

Serena stared at him, wondering when he became so opinionated on the subject of loved ones. “Is there something you'd like to say, Henrik?” she challenged him, feeling somewhat like they had gone back in time three years, to the days of old when they agreed upon very little. Thankfully, now, they understood one another far better. Well, he seemed to understand her better, at least. Serena doubted Hanssen understood himself half the time, never mind anyone else trying to get to grips with him.

Fletch just barely repressed a snort in the guise of a cough, and Serena turned her glare upon him, her eyebrow raised. But Fletch and Hanssen just looked at one another, sharing what seemed to be slightly amused exasperation.

“Oh, for goodness' sake, you're acting like a pair of schoolboys!” exclaimed Serena, having given up on getting any sense out of them. “I'm going home. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” the men replied in unison. As Serena turned, she did not miss the slight shake of Henrik Hanssen's head.

When she re-entered the office, she saw that Bernie had already got up and packed Serena's things away, and was holding Serena's coat open for her. Serena was not fooled; it was a blatant attempt at reversing the roles, being the assister rather than the assisted. She knew it – she was guilty of that herself. However, she put her coat and scarf on without comment, and shouldered her bag. “Ready?” she asked of Bernie with a gentle touch of her arm.

“Ready,” she answered, though she in no way looked it.

When they crossed the ward again, side by side, Fletch and Hanssen still stood at the nurses' station, and they still wore those irritatingly wise expressions. She resisted the urge to tell them to pack it in, and bade them goodnight again as she passed them. Bernie didn't seem to possess the necessary energy to do the same.

It wasn't until they reached Serena's car that she realised just how much pain Bernie had to be in. Bernie wasn't getting into the car, even when Serena started the engine. Instead, she was leaning forward over the car, or at least, that was what Serena assumed from the portion of Bernie's body she could see through the passenger side window. With a sigh, resigned to the idea that Bernie wasn't going to come into the car without a talking to, Serena got out of the car and stalked her way around the front so she could stand at Bernie's side. “Bernie, look at me,” she gently said. The blonde was leaning over the roof of the car with her head in her arms.

“I can't go home with you,” came the muffled statement.

“Why ever not?”

“I'll only drive you mad.”

“I'm already mad,” Serena retorted, letting a small grin onto her face. “You really think that between AAU, Hanssen, Jason, Edward and Elinor, I'm going to be sane?” It forced a chuckle from Bernie, who finally took her head out of her arms and looked at Serena. “You can't drive me mad if I'm already there. Now get in the car.” Though it seemed to be reluctantly, Bernie did obey and get into the passenger seat.

The drive home was quiet. Contemplative. Serena couldn't help but wonder how big a role she was going to have to play if she wanted Bernie to seek help. Bernie was stubborn. She was so sure of how she wanted to proceed, all the time. And if, once the anxiety subsided, she decided not to ask for any help, Serena was going to be hard pressed to persuade her otherwise. She was no fool – she knew Berenice Wolfe like the back of her hand now. It was not news to her that Bernie was one of the most stubborn, irritating, skilled, brilliant people she knew. Bernie might have had a thick skin, but quite often she had an even thicker skull.

“I want you to keep out of this,” was Bernie's mumble as Serena pulled into her driveway. “It's none of your business. Not that there's anything going on, anyway, but if there was, it wouldn't be any of your business.”

And there it was.

Serena had been waiting for this. She had been waiting to be pushed away. And it angered her; she didn't want to be protected, to be treated like she did not know the ins and outs of what someone went through when their head turned against them. “Damn it, Bernie, don't you dare,” Serena snapped. “Don't you dare treat me like some naive schoolgirl. I do know what mental illness entails. I've been there myself, so don't you dare try to push me out under the pretence of protecting me from dealing with mental illness,” she ranted, only realising then that her voice had turned into a caring and angry snarl.

Bernie was dumbstruck. Serena wasn't sorry. The sooner that woman learned that she didn't need to protect Serena, and that she didn't need to do everything on her own, the better.

“I'm going inside. Come in when you're ready,” Serena said shortly, getting out of the car and slamming the door. She was still angry, though she did not want to be. She didn't want to be kicking her shoes off in temper, or cursing under her breath in annoyance. She didn't want to be angry at Bernie for doing what she felt was right. But she needed to get it through her thick skull that Serena did not need to be lied to and treated with kid gloves.

Her head started to ache the more uptight she got, though she was sure that wasn't the only contribution. The last thing she had eaten was a pain au chocolate at the back of eleven this morning. So rather than sit down like she so wanted to, she headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, trying to find space in her head to plan a meal. With a sigh, she took out a packet of mince and threw it onto the counter with little care for where it was to land.

The silence deafening, she turned on the radio for some noise, and pulled out a knife to chop an onion.

As was always the way with onions, Serena's eyes were burning like the Devil himself had poked them, and she had to squint through the tears to ensure that she wouldn't take her fingers off with the knife. There had been a few times in her life she had come close to doing that. Ironic, really, since she cut people open for a living; admittedly, people didn't usually make her eyes sting like she'd poured a bottle of shampoo over her face.

“Screw you, Bernie Wolfe, if you think I don't love you enough to want to help you with PTS bloody D,” Serena grumbled at the onion she was slicing up. “Screw you.”

A hand took the knife from hers, and through her water-blurred vision she saw Bernie looking down at her, a piece of kitchen paper pressed into her hands. “I'll do it. They don't wreck my eyes like that.” When Serena wiped her eyes, she could see Bernie more clearly, and could see that her grumbling had not only been heard by the onion.


	4. Barefoot

Bernie stood in the hot shower, trying to stop the blind panic from creeping into her heart again. The water rolling over her face made her feel like she was drowning, but she was addicted to its cleansing power. The only problem was that every particle of anxiety washed away by one drop was replaced by the next. An endless cycle of being washed and being drowned. Funny, how the same thing that washed her, and indeed gave her life, could make her feel like she couldn't breathe.

Knowing was was good for her, she turned the water off. She idly wondered what Serena had meant when she had said she'd “been there” earlier. Did this mean that Serena had experienced PTSD herself? Or another mental disorder? A bit rich of her, really, to ask that Bernie be honest about her mental state while she didn't mention hers.

It was only when she had a towel wrapped around her that it dawned on her that she had nothing to sleep in. Actually, she had nothing to wear tomorrow; that wasn't as big a problem, really, since she chose to work in scrubs and only wore her civvy clothes entering and exiting her shift. But she wasn't about to sleep naked in Serena Campbell's house. She didn't want to frighten the life out of her, or poor Jason. She could just imagine the look on the young man's face if, for whatever reason, he had to wake her up and she was nude.

Her body encased in a fluffy purple towel, Bernie opened the bathroom door and called out, “Serena?!”

The way Serena scrambled up those stairs, anyone would have thought she'd been promised a bottle of Shiraz at the top. It made Bernie smile slightly when she saw Serena before her, looking for somewhere to look – anywhere but at Bernie. Maybe Hanssen had a point, after all.

“What's wrong?” Serena asked, slightly breathless from her hasty journey up the stairs.

“Oh, nothing,” Bernie said. She realised only then that the reason Serena had been so quick was that she must have thought something was wrong with her again. “I've just realised, I have nothing to sleep in. Can I borrow some pyjamas or something, please?”

The relief Serena felt was made apparent in her face; Bernie hated that Serena was worrying about her. She was a grown woman, for heaven's sake, not a child! She wasn't Serena Campbell's responsibility. And yet here Serena Campbell was, worrying about her and taking responsibility for her wellbeing. It was quite sweet, really. Unnecessary, but sweet. “Of course,” answered Serena. “Come through and we'll find something.”

Feeling more shy than usual, given that she was in her colleague's bedroom with precisely no clothes on, she looked around the room. It was warm and inviting; the walls were the colour of freshly kilned clay, with old-looking furniture and a wooden kingsize bed in the middle, with muted lilac bedcovers. It was lovely.

“These do you?” Serena asked, holding out a red vest and tartan-patterned flannel trousers, complete with red drawstring.

“Perfect,” Bernie smiled slightly. “Thanks.” Though she took the pyjamas into her hands, she did not move.

“Bernie?” said Serena, whilst looking concerned yet again. When was she going to stop worrying?

“Yeah, sorry,” Bernie half-laughed at her own stupidity. “I'll just...I'll just get changed, then.” Serena rubbed Bernie's bare arm gently, before she vacated the room.

It was a good thing, Bernie mused as she let the towel drop to the floor, that Serena did not seem to have remained angry with her. Though dinner had been a mostly silent affair, it had not been an acrimonious silence. It had been a thoughtful quiet. Plus, she thought to herself while she pulled on the pyjama bottoms, she was pretty sure she'd have known soon enough if Serena was still furious with her. Because, really, she didn't want the backlash. She was in no doubt that Serena did have a blinding temper on her, even if it did take a lot to make her lose it, and Bernie didn't particularly want to be on the receiving end of it. And of course, she reflected, pulling the red vest over her head, she did not want to be the one who made Serena feel frustrated and upset enough to lose her temper. She didn't want to hurt Serena – that was the last thing she wanted.

But wasn't _she_ what was frustrating and upsetting Serena right now? Wasn't it Bernie who made Serena put on display only the slight glimpse of her anger, when normally she would have hidden it? Wasn't that why Bernie couldn't invade Serena's home and privacy? Wasn't this what she had meant when she had told Serena she would only be driven mad by her presence?

With a sigh, she picked up the damp towel and put it in Serena's washing basket, and headed downstairs. When she got to the living room, Serena was sitting with a glass of wine and a book, looking very comfortable and content, probably because she hadn't realised Bernie had entered the room. “Serena,” Bernie eventually sighed, still standing at the door, “I'm going to call a cab and go home.”

Still reading, Serena said, “Why on Earth are you going to do that?”

“I don't want...” began Bernie, but she promptly decided to reword her reply. “You need peace and quiet, not to have me here making things uncomfortable.”

Serena huffed slightly and put her glass and book down on the coffee table. “Don't be so ridiculous,” she scolded.

“I'm not being ridiculous.”

“You _are_!” laughed Serena. “I don't let people into my home unless I want them here, you know.”

“I know, but you're obviously worrying about me, and I don't want you to worry about me.”

Serena pinched the bridge of her nose, and it was with a little remorse that Bernie recognised the expression of a woman whose patience was rapidly waning. But perhaps the only way to get Serena to let her go was to stress her in the short term so that she could be less anxious in the long term. Maybe that was what was best for Serena. Maybe she had to put her very best friend at arm's length for her own good. No matter how much Serena said she didn't need protected, Bernie couldn't help wanting to protect her regardless. Her first instinct was to put Serena first. There was nothing she could do about that fact.

When Serena finally spoke, her voice was already strained and tired. “Don't push me away.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“I'm _not_!” insisted Bernie, despite knowing that this was a perfect lie.

“You bloody well _are_!” Serena finally shouted, her temper visible once more. Bernie's next thought was for Jason, and she hoped he was wearing headphones or something because she did not want to stress him out with this either. “You are pushing me out because you _still_ reckon I can't handle whatever it is that's going on in that damn head of yours!”

“There's no need to worry, Serena.”

“No need to worry?!” she repeated incredulously. “ _No need to worry_?!”

“Exactly,” Bernie agreed calmly. “It's just a touch of stress, that's all.” Now that, that right there was as much to convince herself as much as it was to placate Serena. “Nothing at all to worry about.”

“If you saw me having a full out panic attack, if you knew I'd overturned a cafeteria in fear, would you be worried about me?!”

That stung. That really, really stung. And it caused Bernie to react emotionally rather than intelligently. “Of course I would be worried!” exclaimed Bernie.

“Really? Because apparently it's nothing to worry about!” Serena continued, her temper rising with every word that flew from her mouth. She stood up, and it was then that Bernie knew Serena meant business. “So if you ever see me in that state, you're just going to leave me to make it worse, are you?”

“Of course not!” Bernie shouted, all plans for a rational and deceitful argument in smoke. “Of course I wouldn't!”

“Why not?!” laughed Serena, though her laugh was harsh and bitter this time. “Why not? It's obviously no big deal for me to have anxiety attacks and overturn tables! If I'm not going to worry about you, then why should you worry about me if the shoe was on the other foot?!”

“I love you! I could never let you go through that without me!” yelled Bernie.

Silence fell.

Bernie only heard the words now as they crashed down over them, like the waves of water that threatened to drown her while she had showered. Serena seemed dumbfounded, and Bernie couldn't blame her. So rather than expand on the matter, she went to the coffee table and picked up her phone. “I'm calling a cab,” she informed Serena, her tone sharp. How could she have just said that to Serena Campbell? Was she really that stupid? But when she tried to unlock her phone, matters just got worse. “Oh, brilliant,” she chuckled humourlessly. “My battery is dead. Can I use the landline, please?”

“Jason is using it.” Serena's voice was deadpan now. Normal volume, no emotion. She was in defence mode.

“OK, can I use your mobile, please?” Bernie impatiently asked.

“No.”

“For God's sake, why not?!”

“I don't want you to leave. I think you're better off here, with some company, tonight.”

“Are you always this bloody stubborn?!” Bernie demanded, losing her temper herself now.

“Yep.”

Infuriated beyond anything she had thought herself capable of, Bernie turned and left the room. She pulled on her coat and her trainers, picked up her handbag, and she walked out the front door onto the damp garden path. It had obviously rained while she had been here.

Serena Campbell, it seemed, did not like to be told not to worry.

Bernie stomped ill-temperedly down the road, towards her own home. It was a few miles but she'd walked – ran – longer distances in the Middle Eastern heat. How was it that Serena knew just how to get at Bernie? How the hell had Serena forced the words, “I love you,” from her mouth? _How_?

There was a tight knot in her stomach now. She had just made everything a hundred times worse; she had alienated Serena. Now there wasn't only a PTSD-shaped wedge between them, but another one that Bernie had constructed herself. She had indeed wanted to put some distance between her and Serena, and for Serena's sake, but she had not wanted this. The friendship Bernie so deeply valued was now in tatters. It was her own fault. She was well aware of this. That, however, did not detract from the regret and remorse she now felt over the whole thing.

Bernie hadn't noticed the tears until she felt them running down her neck. She was so stupid. She could have stayed. She could have stayed and let Serena take on some of what she seemed so willing to share, but instead she had been typical old Bernie and ruined their relationship instead. Angry with herself, she roughly wiped the tears from her face, but they were only replaced with fresh ones the very next moment.

“Bernie!”

Oh, for crying out loud! Why wasn't this woman giving up on her?!

Bernie kept walking, hoping there was enough distance between them that she could pretend she didn't hear the shout down the street.

“BERENICE GRISELDA WOLFE, YOU STOP WALKING RIGHT NOW AND ACKNOWLEDGE THE FACT I AM SPEAKING TO YOU!”

It wasn't a call anymore. It was a roar. An order. And Berenice Wolfe had to obey orders.

So she halted.

When she turned around, Serena was walking barefoot towards her, obviously having walked out the house after Bernie without a thought for footwear. It did not escape Bernie's noticed that she had not managed to stop her tears before turning around to face a livid-looking Serena, but she could not doing a single thing about that now.

All Bernie could say was, “Serena, you've got no shoes on.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious!”

“No, I mean, go home. You'll get a cold, running out here in the wet with your bare feet!”

“I don't care!” Serena exclaimed. “I don't care as long as I get you to see some sense. I don't want you going away and drowning your sorrows on your own. Don't try and tell me you weren't going to do that, because I'm not an idiot!”

“I've never said you're an idiot.”

“And yet you still treat me like one.”

“I just don't want to make you watch me going mad,” Bernie murmured. This time, it was the truth. Funny, wasn't it, how she seemed to either shout or whisper the truth, but never say it at a normal volume.

“You're looking at the woman who tried to commit suicide twenty-four years ago,” Serena bluntly told her. “Twice,” she added, almost like it was only an afterthought. “I think I already know what it looks like to go mad, don't you?”

Bernie stared at her. “Why...why didn't you-” she tried to stammer out, but Serena cut across her.

“I don't like to publicise that fact.”

Saying no more on the subject, for the moment, Serena held out her hand, a clear invitation to go back home with her.

Bernie sighed and took Serena's hand. She was defeated, and – in some ways – gladly so.


	5. Desert Dust

It was late. After eleven. Jason had already been down to bid them both a goodnight, and now Bernie found herself sitting in silence on the couch with her best friend, though neither of them had actually spoken about anything that was said out on the street two hours ago. Instead they had put the television on and let the noise fill the gap between them. Bernie hadn't paid much notice to what the screen had been playing; she acknowledged only that it was a noise in the background, and that Serena was about as good at talking about things as she was herself – not very.

Honestly, right there and then, what Bernie wanted was affection. She wanted to be able to lean in to Serena and hold on tight, but she was too cautious. She knew how she felt about Serena and she didn't want to break a beautiful friendship by crossing any lines.

With a sigh, Bernie finally spoke. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

“It's up to you,” shrugged Serena. “You can just stay here on the couch, or there's a spare room already made up,” she explained. “Or...” Serena added hesitantly. She finally looked around at Bernie, looking like he was seriously debating whether or not to keep talking.

“Or what?” Bernie asked curiously.

“Or, if you feel you need…someone beside you tonight,” Serena slowly told her, “you can sleep in my bed.”

Whatever Bernie had expected, it had not been that. “Oh,” she said, unable to mask her surprise in her voice. “Oh, um, no, I'll be fine in the spare room,” Bernie smiled slightly, though mostly to soothe Serena's still obvious worry. Smiling was the last thing she felt like doing. Howling with rage, pain and fear was what she felt the urge to be doing.

“I guess we should turn in, since we're on an early in the morning,” Serena groaned. She stood up, as did Bernie, though her exhausted, aching bones screamed at her not to move. It was only the knowledge that this couch would do her back no good that forced her to her feet.

Standing in the spare bedroom, with its double bed and small TV, and the blackout curtains, Bernie wasn't quite sure that she had been right to choose this as a place to sleep. But she had to. Serena wasn't going to let her go home alone tonight and, quite frankly, Bernie was finding it difficult to blame her for her caution. She had been in a state today; she knew it was unreasonable to ask Serena not to concern herself with it, even if it was what was best for both of them. Serena was right, of course. If the roles were reserved and Serena was the one in this predicament, Bernie would not be able to refrain from trying to protect her.

Her gaze fell upon Serena, who was visibly tired and somewhat paler than usual, and she said, “Thank you, Serena.” What to say beyond that was a mystery to Bernie. She had crossed a line to tonight, and said three words that could not be taken back, and Serena could never withdraw the revelation that she had twice attempted suicide. They had scarred a lot of clean ground with their tracks tonight.

“You're welcome,” she replied, though the words came out as a mumble.

“What's wrong?” Bernie asked, quick on the uptake that Serena's thoughts were now headed in an unpleasant direction. “I'll be fine, I promise,” she assured Serena.

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” advised Serena, her voice still almost silent, her lips still barely moving. Bernie stared at her. This expression she wore was not about Bernie. This was something else, and Bernie wished she would spit it out.

“Serena. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I...” she began. “What I told you. Please, don't repeat that to anyone. There are only two people I now know who know I was ever that...that _ill_ , and one is the man who helped push me to that point.”

“I would never, _ever_ , Serena,” Bernie half-laughed, mainly because she couldn't believe that after all these months that Serena would think she would ever pass that information on to anyone. “Of course I wouldn't!” The relief on the brunette's still pale face was so obvious; it stunned Bernie that she had actually doubted that the confession would be kept between them. “But, you know, if you ever want to discuss it, I'm always here.”

Serena shook her head, looking somewhat incredulous. “I think you've got enough problems of your own, don't you?”

“I'll be _fine_ ,” Bernie insisted for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. Lying to Serena wasn't as easy as she had hoped it would be. Unfortunately, it seemed that she remained sceptical, and Bernie wondered whether she'd ever believe her unless it was the solemn truth. Bernie sighed and took a step towards Serena; the woman really was so beautiful. Not just externally, but her insides were beautiful as well. Tough, but sensitive. Protective and yet so defensive too. So, so bright and intelligent. She reached out and let her fingers get lost in the mess of short dark hair. To Bernie's surprise, Serena stepped in towards her, putting her hand on Bernie's arm, and Bernie's free hand grasped just below Serena's elbow, their two limbs entwined snakelike together.

And then Bernie remembered.

This could not happen. She could not alienate her best friend by putting her in such a position. So she closed her eyes, feeling the tears sting once more, and pressed her lips to Serena's forehead instead – it was at least more platonic in nature than a kiss on the lips, after all. She heard Serena exhale, though there was no way to tell what emotion lay behind that breath. “Goodnight,” Bernie murmured into Serena's forehead.

“Goodnight,” answered Serena; there was a crack in her voice, like she wanted to say something, but was too tired to bother.

Bernie didn't want to let go. It wasn't only because Serena was her comfort. She'd felt this way about Serena Campbell for a long time. There had been a fair few times she had just wanted to shake Serena and tell her she loved her, and kiss her there and then, regardless of who might see. But out of respect for Serena, she had not, and she would continue to refrain for as long as Serena gave no indication of that being what she wanted.

Despite it making her heart feel that little bit heavier, she parted contact with Serena and turned away, knowing that Serena had been right the whole time. Bernie was indeed in for a rough night. She would fall asleep with no effort, only because she was exhausted and there would be no stopping that, but once she was asleep, she knew what sheer terror awaited.

She climbed into bed and pulled the covers tight around her; footsteps faded towards the door and the light went out. Serena was gone.

_The bodies were wheeling in one after the other. Yet another IED. When was this going to stop? There were five gurneys, one of which held a black body bag – one of the five had died either at the scene or en route._

_She thanked the soldiers who brought her these patients, and she prepared herself to assess the damage. She tied a plastic apron around her back, and she washed her hands until she feared they might bleed. She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and turned around. Looking on the clipboard the soldiers had left with the patients, she found a list._

_1\. Serious leg injury – left leg, unconscious_  
_2\. Serious abdominal injuries, unconscious_  
_3\. Shrapnel to knee – left knee, unconscious_  
_4\. Head injury, one pupil blown – unconscious_  
_5\. Dead on arrival_

_She turned and examined the mess of what once had been a leg of the first man, only to find that it was going to have to be amputated._

_She moved on to the abdomen of what had to be a female soldier – internal bleeding. Serious internal bleeding. She was going to be hard pushed to save this one at all._

_The next was a man's knee, shrapnel sticking out of his joint like the sharpest of rocks in the sea. She would be able to save the leg but there was no telling what problems he'd have later on._

_She went to the next trolley and went to the woman's head, acting on autopilot. She checked her pupils; both had now blown and there was little chance for recovery. She sighed and looked down at the poor woman's face, only to find herself swearing out loud, for it had been the last person she expected to find._

_It was Alex._

_Bernie gasped in shock, and backed away, going back to the young man with the injured leg, but she found herself shaking from fright._

_Cameron._

_Charlotte._

_Jason._

_Alex._

_So who was in the body bag?_

_Did she dare open it? Her hands trembled in fear; she felt sick right down to her stomach. She stumbled forwards and put her fingers on the zip. Her heart in her mouth, she unzipped the top of the bag, debating whether or not she could handle who may lay dead beneath. She screwed her eyes shut and pulled back the loose material of the bag._

_When she opened her eyes, she instantly regretted it after seeing the bloody, battered, lifeless corpse._

_Serena Campbell._

_She screamed in terror; war had claimed everyone she cared about. It was her fault._

_All her fault._

“BERNIE!” came a familiar roar. Through the darkness, Bernie saw Serena looking straight into her face. Behind Serena stood Jason, and from what Bernie could make of his shadowed face, she had frightened the life out of him. “Bernie, are you alright?”

She felt the cold sweat pouring from her neck, forehead and back. It had been one of _those_ nightmares. The vivid ones. The ones that scared her half to death, no matter how much she tried to prepare herself for them. “I'm fine,” lied Bernie. “Don't worry. Go back to bed.”

Serena glared at her, and she knew why. “Jason, you might as well just get back to bed,” Serena sighed.

“Alright. Goodnight, Auntie Serena. Goodnight, Bernie,” he smiled slightly at them.

“Goodnight,” they replied in unison.

Jason left them, and Bernie sat up in bed. She felt her face, horrified to feel it sticky and hot, like she had been crying in her sleep. “I know what you're going to say, Serena, so don't,” Bernie told her, not patient enough to be dealing with Serena's incessant concern right now. That did not mean, however, that Bernie could not appreciate that it was not without reason. Of course Serena would be concerned. It just didn't make it any easier to deal with.

But Serena did not speak. She only climbed over Bernie and into the other side of the bed, pulling the covers over her.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I don't fancy exercising at night so I'll just stay here in case you start screaming again,” Serena answered her; it was clear from her lazy tone that she was still sleepy, and when Bernie looked at the digital display of the bedside alarm clock, she could not blame her. It was after four in the morning.

“I'm sorry, Serena,” Bernie mumbled, lying back down next to her.

“Don't be. It's not your fault you had a nightmare,” Serena replied. “What was it about, anyway, if it terrified you that much?”

“You don't want to know.”

“Try me.”

Bernie sighed, and opened her mouth to explain, but no words would leave her. How was she meant to tell her the contents of that dream? “Goodnight, Serena.”

The silence fell like desert dust upon them; it fell for almost an hour. Bernie watched the minutes slide by on the clock like sand through her fingers, falling onto her face and chest. It was almost smothering Bernie, pressing against her until it was an effort just to breathe. Until she felt her chest constricting against her lungs and her heart. Until it overcame her.

She choked.

“Bernie!” Serena exclaimed. Had she been asleep, woken by the spluttering next to her?

It was too late. The panic ran through her like a knife; all she could see was her nightmares. The gunfire, the desert, the explosions, the dead and the wounded, and the broken bodies of those she loved and cared about. Like a film reel, a horror movie of her own design rolled in her mind, and she was powerless to pause it.

Even when she sat up, trying to breathe, there was no stopping it.

Cameron, Charlotte, Jason, Alex, Serena.

Cameron, Charlotte, Jason, Alex, Serena.

Cameron, Charlotte, Jason, Alex, Serena.

Cameron, Charlotte, Jason, Alex…

...pale, dead Serena.

A hand on her back started to drag her back into the dark, quiet room, the silence broken only by a long-familiar voice. “Bernie, I'm here,” Serena said in earnest. “It's OK. You're in my house. You're safe. Breathe with me.”

With every word Serena spoke, the film cuts faded out a little more.

She could hear Serena's breathing and tried to match it. It was getting easier. The knife of panic had withdrawn. The dust was lifting from her lungs. “Alright,” Serena whispered soothingly. “Alright. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Bernie gasped out, finally catching enough breath to speak.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bernie said nothing. All she could do was lean into Serena and let her pull them back down into a lying position. The warm, lively, loving Serena she attached herself to fought the image of a cold, dead, lifeless Serena from Bernie's mind.

Maybe now she could sleep without fear.


	6. Be Brave

A knock on the door startled Serena out of her sleep, and through the sunlit room, she saw Jason standing at the door of the spare room. “If you and Bernie don't get up in the next five minutes, you're not going to get to work on time,” Jason informed her, his tone neither accusatory nor commanding. As always, he was stating a simple fact.

“Thanks, Jason,” Serena smiled, thankful today that she had her own personal alarm clock, in the form of her nephew.

“You're welcome,” he replied, and he left the room.

Serena sighed; Bernie was still clung to her like an acrophobe to terra firma. She shook to sleeping figure slightly. “Bernie,” she said, “Bernie, it's time to get up or you'll be late for work.” Bernie moaned, clearly unwilling to get up. In fairness, even when she was half-asleep, she looked unwell. “Would you like me to call you in sick? I'm sure we can manage without you just for today.”

“No,” slurred Bernie as she turned around on her other side, detaching herself from Serena. “No, I'll get up.”

It was the calm after the storm – or perhaps between storms, as it was looking like more and more. The time to assess the damage and try and fix it. However, Serena was all too aware that nothing could be fixed unless Bernie allowed it to be. Serena struggled upwards and climbed out of bed; she looked back at Bernie, who was awake but hadn't moved, and exhaled slowly. This was going to be tough.

She walked back and crouched down, and she pushed Bernie's hair out of her eyes. “Come on,” Serena urged her gently. “I know you're tired, but you can't lie in bed all day. Believe me when I say it might be the worst thing you could do.”

“They all saw, Serena,” Bernie croaked, her voice still sleepily cracking. “I'm going to be the laughing stock of the ward. How can I expect them to take orders from me when I'm weaker than them?”

“You're not weaker than anyone,” scolded Serena. “And nobody is going to laugh at you. They wouldn't dare, anyway.”

“Don't you go fighting my battles,” Bernie told her.

“Not just me. Hanssen doesn't stand for that sort of thing, either. It wouldn't matter if it were you or anyone else; if we found out a member of staff was mocking someone else for being unwell, we'd be down on them like a ton of bricks, and they all know it.”

Bernie's lips twitched upwards into the tiniest and briefest of smiles. However, her eyes were still burning in anxiety and dread that Serena knew would not go away any time soon. This was why Bernie needed help. Whether it was medication or therapy or a combination of both, she needed some kind of help. Something to stop her getting into the states she was in yesterday.

It was the same thing she had told Guy Self about Zosia – of all the things that ruined a career, mental illness didn't have to be it.

“Bernie,” a voice addressed her from the door. “What would you like on your toast? We have butter, strawberry jam, raspberry jam, marmalade and Nutella.” He strode up to Serena and passed down to her a plate of hot buttered toast, saying, “It's ten minutes to eight. You should be eating breakfast by now.”

“Oh,” Bernie stumbled out, clearly surprised by the offer of breakfast. “Um, butter would be fine. Thank you, Jason,” she added with a small and somewhat forced smile.

Jason replied with a nod, a grin and, “You're welcome, Bernie.” Though Jason had his issues, he did enjoy being helpful, and he seemed to be making an effort with Bernie – something for which Serena was most grateful. It was his way of trying to look after them.

Bernie closed her eyes for a moment, and then sat upright. “I guess I'd better get myself together,” she sighed.

It was another forty minutes before they ended up back at work. Bernie had reluctantly borrowed a pair of black jeans and a blue jumper that Ellie left in the house, under Serena's instructions to start this day fresh.

There was another ten minutes before their shift started so Bernie suggested they stop for coffee; Serena, however, was not fooled, and knew she was just delaying her entry to AAU as long as possible. Serena had done the same thing herself on occasion, and so knew it did no good. It was only when Bernie headed towards a free table that Serena put her foot down. “Bernie, we need to get to AAU.”

“Just five more minutes?”

“You can't put it off forever.”

“You don't understand, Serena,” Bernie sighed. “They saw me crack up. I can't be their leader if they've seen me like that.”

Serena chuckled slightly. Of course, she did understand. She knew better than Bernie could ever imagine what that particular problem meant. She had, at the age of twenty-seven, broke down in the middle of her operating theatre during an argument with Edward, who had let slip about her first suicide attempt to a nurse. Said nurse, with the best of intentions, had approached Serena about it, and Serena cornered Edward and lost her temper with him in a row in theatre, effectively letting her whole team know she was mentally ill.

So she did understand. She understood completely how hard it was to face them the next day, to be in charge and lead them through their shift when they had seen her fault lines so clearly.

But she did not explain this to Bernie. How could she? Instead, all she said was, “You'd be surprised what I understand,” and guided her friend to the lift. “I've got your back, remember?” she added with a smile as the metal doors opened.

Bernie did not look convinced.

“Be brave, Major Wolfe,” Serena smiled, her hand gripped gently around Bernie's slender arm.

“Be brave,” repeated Bernie in a nervous murmble.

On AAU, things were hectic. Hanssen was there, the only calm face in a sea of harassed expressions. “Ah, Ms. Campbell, Ms. Wolfe,” he said. “I'm afraid we have a special patient for you. Elesha Sulless, twenty-two, sharp force trauma to the lower abdomen. She was brought in late last night, and she survived theatre, but she is still relatively unstable. There was a great deal of damage done to her uterus, but a hysterectomy was avoided, for the moment.”

“She's in the Trauma Bay?” Bernie asked, her direct nature seemingly returning to her when it was required.

“Yes.”

“Alright, well, let me get changed and we'll see to her,” Bernie said. “Do we know how this happened?”

“Miss Sulless is remaining tight-lipped about the details, but from what we can gather, it seems this was an attack by another person,” Hanssen informed them. Serena looked between Hanssen and Bernie and saw that, while they were having a perfectly professional exchange, Hanssen was examining Bernie carefully. But Bernie seemed oblivious to this, likely too distracted by her new patient to really pay attention to Hanssen's scrutinising expression. But when Bernie walked away, Hanssen addressed Serena directly. “How is Ms. Wolfe doing today?” he asked of her, following her into the office.

“Better,” allowed Serena as she shed her coat and scarf. “Although, she _is_ worried that she's lost the respect of her colleagues.”

“Well,” sighed Hanssen, sitting down on the edge of the desk, “I can assure you that AAU's staff still holds Ms. Wolfe in great esteem.”

“I know that,” Serena half-laughed, “and you know that. The only person who doesn't is Bernie.”

Hanssen's expression was unreadable, as it so often was. “Would you say she's fit for work?”

“I'm no mental health professional but I'd say she's okay to work,” Serena replied, now sitting at her desk. “She's able to make decisions about her patients and she's able to perform her duties.”

“I guess that's the best we can hope for at the moment.”

Serena knew what it was that Hanssen meant; he wasn't being cold or harsh. In fact, this was the opposite. There was a hint of sadness in his face that suggested he would very much like Bernie to feel alright in herself, to be able to feel better than just fit for work. It had taken Serena a long time to understand this side to Hanssen. Though she could not get to grips with most of the man, this was one of the few things she was able to fully comprehend. His outlook was one where his staff's health and wellbeing, mental and physical, was tantamount to the running of the hospital. He was not that boss everyone hated, who would ask staff to put work before their health. He was the first to advise them against it.

Serena smiled slightly. “I'm trying my best with her, Henrik, but you know as well as I do that she's had a lifetime of being a soldier. It'll take a while for her to break out of that mould.”

“Your efforts are not in vain, Serena,” he answered her, making use of her first name as he so rarely did. “It will pay off in the end.”

At that moment, Bernie walked into the office with the brightest and falsest of smiles, and Henrik stood up and left.

“Everything alright?” Bernie asked. She sounded positively chipper, though Serena knew better than to believe it. A smile was the world's best mask.

“Yeah,” Serena answered.

She watched carefully as Bernie bent over and logged into her computer, the machine making its usual noise as it powered up. Left with nothing to do as it sorted itself out, Bernie stood upright again and looked down at a sitting Serena. “Look, Serena,” Bernie began, her voice quiet and slightly vulnerable. “Thank you for having my back. I appreciate it. But I don't need it.”

“Bernie, for God's sake, stop pushing me away,” snapped Serena, losing patience with this routine. “As much as you might like the idea, nobody can be a lone wolf their whole life.”

Bernie eyed her with a smirk, the first spark of genuine amusement all morning lighting in her dark eyes.

“No pun intended,” Serena added once she realised what had amused Bernie, but she couldn't help but allow a little smile herself. “But we made a promise, did we not, that we would look out for one another?”

“We did,” Bernie admitted. “But-”

“And I don't break my promises. Not to people I care for.” Serena stood up now, having realised she had to fight Bernie in order to remain in the position to help her. There was nobody else to do it, and it was clear that Bernie was not going to stop to help herself at any point in the near future. But to fight Bernie, it was becoming increasingly obvious that honesty was Serena's greatest weapon. “You cannot expect me to just walk away from you. You're too important to me. I-” she cut herself off before she was _too_ honest.

Before she knew it, Bernie was inches from her, and there was no denying how much Serena loved that woman. It was terrifying, really – she had never ventured beyond friendship with another woman before, and yet her she was, perfectly willing to love Bernie Wolfe.

Serena looked up into that beautiful face, and it occurred to her that, right now, nothing else was important. When it came to Bernie, the only thing that was important was that Serena loved her enough to stand by her even when she was being pushed away. Bernie's gender, her mental state, her history, it had no bearing on what it was that Serena felt for her: love.

Had she really allowed herself to fall in love with her best friend?

But this was not the time. Bernie was too fragile for this at the moment. It also was not the place; there was a young woman out there in the Trauma Bay who needed their care and attention. “We should go and see what state Elesha Sulless is in,” Serena said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Still, though, she tentatively placed her hand on Bernie's waist, the most intimate touch of comfort she had offered her yet.

Bernie smiled and opened the office door, to a day of pretending that Bernie felt fine and that Serena didn't love her. Serena's fleeting thought as they approached unconscious Elesha Sulless' bed was that pretence never lasted long where she and Bernie were involved.


	7. Elesha

It wasn't until three that afternoon that Elesha Sulless regained consciousness.

Given the circumstances, she was lucky even to be alive. Bernie knew that, and she was sure Elesha did too – that was why Elesha's reaction to being reminded of this was so unexpected.

“Oh, yes,” she barked out a hoarse laugh, still exhausted from her injuries, “so lucky. It's like I've won the lottery. The jackpot is to keep living in hell.”

Bernie was taken aback. “You mean to say, you deliberately put a knife in your abdomen?” she demanded, somewhat shocked by the realisation that all was not as it seemed with her young patient. How could such a beautiful, brilliant young woman be suicidal?

“Nope.”

“Then how-”

“Suicide by picking a fight with someone stronger than you. Good way to go, really. Nobody need ever know you wanted to die.”

“And what about the person who ends up killing you?” Bernie shot back.

“Well, if they were willing to rise to my provocation, they were bound to do it to someone else, anyway. Probably a good thing they get locked up before they hurt someone who would rather not die,” Elesha answered. Her tone was cold, harsh. Almost emotionless. And yet, her bright green eyes told another story. They told of anguish and desperation, though the source was unknown to Bernie; what struck her most of all, however, was the tiredness that had nothing to do with being laid up in hospital. An exhaustion of the mind, of the soul.

With a slight sigh, Bernie sat down in the chair next to Elesha's bed. “Why, Elesha? Why do it?”

Elesha did not reply there and then. Whether she was reluctant to give an honest answer or she was still trying to formulate a comprehensive answer in her head, the young woman remained silent for a few minutes, and Bernie did not press her. The girl was clearly so damn smart. She had an answer for everything, and obvious intelligence, and yet she tried to get someone to kill her? It made no sense.

When Elesha finally spoke, Bernie had to listen hard to hear her past the noise of the medical machines. “I'm too tired to carry on. It's draining, constantly trying to outrun yourself. Constantly telling yourself to get a grip and yet being unable to.”

“That's not a good reason for suicide.”

“What is, then?” Elesha asked, her tone sharp.

Bernie hesitated. What _was_ a good reason to commit suicide? Terminal illness was the obvious one. But beyond that...depression, she reasoned, could drive a person to despair. And she had known of soldiers who, so haunted by their time on the battlefield, took their own lives. Mental illness, in general, took lives, but those were treatable. Maybe not curable, but definitely treatable.

“Have you seen a doctor about this feeling?” Bernie asked gently.

“No!” scoffed Elesha. “What's a doctor going to do? Put me on pills for the rest of my life? Make me see a shrink? Lock me up and throw away the key? I'll pass on that, thanks.”

“Perhaps you should try it. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Elesha's face was stony. Unreadable. There was no way to know what was really going on behind those eyes. It was, she realised, a glimpse into what Serena saw when she stared into Bernie's face. And in a way, she understood this girl's dilemma. Come clean or hide behind a stone cold persona? Bernie, of course, was always drawn to do the latter.

Bernie reached out and squeezed Elesha's shoulder. “You get some rest,” she advised quietly.

Once she was safely out of the room, she leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling for a moment. She had to share this information with Serena, of course, but she had to wonder what good forcing a psych assessment upon Elesha would do. She was unreceptive. She didn't _want_ help. Again, Bernie could sympathise with her. There was no way in hell she was going anywhere near anyone who could confirm she was crazy.

“Did you get anywhere?” asked Serena. It made Bernie startle; she had not been expecting to be approached.

Bernie sighed, knowing full well she would be remiss not to let Serena know. “It was attempted suicide.”

“She stabbed _herself_?” Serena half-gasped. Bernie studied her for a moment. It took a fair bit to shock Serena Campbell; she must have seen a lot of horrors in her career, if not the same sort of horror Bernie had known. She must have seen suicide attempts and self-harm more often than Bernie had, and perhaps she was better equipped to treat those people.

“No,” Bernie finally answered. “No, she picked a fight with someone with the intention of being murdered.”

Serena's mouth fell open. “Right, I'll get on the phone to Psych.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Bernie admitted; predictably, she was faced by a questioning look from Serena. “I've just talked to her and I really don't think Psych can help much right now. They might do more harm than good.”

“But they're trained for this, Bernie. We don't have the knowledge or the training to-”

“I'm just saying,” Bernie interrupted, needing to be listened to about this matter, “she's not going anywhere. She's not going to be able to move very far for a while. She's already said she doesn't want Psych and I really think she's too hard-headed for them to get very far with her. She seems the sort of person who would deny it's even happening if she thought for a moment that the next move was out of her control. She's scared of that happening, Serena.”

Serena's patience was clearly waning. Bernie was not stupid – she knew where Serena was coming from. She knew that Serena would have been far happier if she could get Psych down there and then, since this girl was such a clear danger to herself. But Bernie really believed that now was not quite the time for such a direct intervention. “I can talk her round,” Bernie said quietly. “I can talk her round, make her see that she needs some help. But it has to be her who says she wants it, otherwise you'd be wasting your time.”

Serena stared for a moment and sighed. “Alright,” she finally answered, “alright. You've got until the end of our shift, and then I'm calling Psych either way.”

Bernie clasped her hand around Serena's arm and replied, “Thank you. I'll have a chat with her once she's had time to properly wake up and calm down.”

For what felt like the thousandth time today, Serena seemed to be searching Bernie for something. What, exactly, Bernie wasn't at all sure, but those big brown eyes were digging through her skin, trying to investigate her very soul. And this, this right here was why Bernie had to start keeping her emotions at bay. It troubled Serena, and Bernie didn't want Serena to be troubled, and particularly not by her.

Just after six that night, almost an hour before the shift's end and Serena's deadline, Bernie went back to Elesha Sulless. Finally stable enough, she had been moved from the Trauma Bay to the side room, though she was checked upon more often than was strictly necessary, just to ensure that she had not made any further attempts on her own life.

Bernie sat down next to the bed, where Elesha made no indication that she anyone had entered the room. She was staring at the wall in front of her, lost in herself. “Elesha,” Bernie finally said, after allowing the silence for a solid minute. “Elesha, you know that you don't have to feel this way, don't you? There are people who can help you.”

Elesha's smile was cynical, so obviously sceptical of anything she was told. “You know I don't care, don't you?” she retorted, mimicking Bernie's soft, serious and compassionate tone.

“Ah, see that's the thing,” Bernie half-smiled, raising a finger in the air and leaning forwards, “I think you do care. I think you care a great deal. You feel it so deeply that you have no choice but to care.” The words broke Elesha's hardhearted façade; she looked at Bernie for the first time since she had walked in the door, and her eyes seemed to burn with fear and despair. “Do you have any family?”

“Yes. I have two brothers, a mother and a stepdad.”

“Have you spoken to them about how you feel?”

“Why would I do a stupid, cruel thing like that?” Elesha snapped. “I don't talk to them at all. They're better off having nothing to do with me.”

“I can see the logic,” Bernie admitted. “They don't have to worry for what they don't care about. But, Elesha,” she continued, “they're not just going to stop caring because you stopped talking to them. It doesn't work like that. If I'd had to call your mother and say you were dead, I still would have had to hold her while she cried and grieved. The fact you've put distance between you doesn't mean that she's just going to stop caring. I think you know that.”

Elesha's stare bore into her for about ten seconds before she opened her mouth and spoke. “They don't need this. They don't need me ruining things for them.”

“You think they would see your illness as a burden?”

“It's not an illness. I just need to get over it.”

“That's the first thing you need to stop thinking,” Bernie laughed slightly, though she was not in any way amused. “Saying you just have to get over it is like shooting yourself in the leg and saying you need to walk to A and E. And just like you'd see a surgeon for an injury to your leg, you see a psychologist for an injury to your mind.”

She was getting somewhere; Elesha was seriously considering her position now. “And what if the psychologist can't help me? What if I'm a hopeless case?”

Bernie smiled. “My...friend,” she began, unsure of how to refer to Serena these days, “my very best friend, she tried to kill herself twenty-four years ago. Twice. And she's still here. She's still alive. She's got a beautiful daughter, a brilliant career, and friends who would be distraught if she were to try it again. You're not a hopeless case, Elesha. You can have what she has, if only you can be brave enough to take the first step and ask for help.”

Elesha's hand, to Bernie's surprise, reached out and grabbed the consultant by the wrist. “Can you do me a favour?” she mumbled. “Can you arrange for me to...talk to someone? I'm not making any promises, but if your friend can do it, maybe there's half a chance I can.”

“More than half a chance,” Bernie said. “But, yes, I can ask someone from Psych to come down and speak to you.”

“Thanks,” Elesha whispered; Bernie felt her patient's fingers tighten gently around her wrist.

“You're welcome.”

Bernie left the room, and as she stepped onto the main ward, she felt a small relief that she had got Elesha to see that there might be some good in seeking some help. Unable to see Serena, Bernie assumed that she must have been in the office, probably finishing off the last of the paperwork before the end of the shift. So that was where she headed. In through the door she walked, and she sat at her own desk, seeing Serena sitting at hers, her head resting on one hand. “Good news,” Bernie beamed. Serena did not look up from her files. “Elesha Sulless wants to speak to Psych.”

Again, Serena did not speak or even look up. Instead, she raised her hand and gave the thumbs up.

“Serena?”

Something was wrong. Bernie stood up and strode around the desks to stand next to Serena. There were tear stains on the topmost page of the file; Bernie reached out and gently pulled Serena's face around to meet her gaze. “What's wrong, Serena?”

Serena glared up for a moment before she said, “I don't know what to do. I hate seeing you so hurt and I don't know how to help.” Her voice was cracked and tired.

“You don't need to help me. I'm fine.” It was a total lie but it was worth a shot nevertheless.

Serena laughed incredulously and got to her feet, her face slightly red and blotchy from her silent crying. “The one thing you are _not_ is fine.”

They gazed at one another for a moment, each woman searching the other for the answers. Perhaps, though, there were no answers to be found anymore. But if they were to be found, Bernie was almost certain they were to be found in Serena Campbell. The beginnings of a heated argument lingered in the air, like a bomb waiting to be either detonated or defused. But was it better to let it explode or make sure it didn't?

“I'm not a child, Serena,” Bernie sighed. “I don't need looked after.”

“I know you're not a child.”

A defence had gone up. Just for a moment, Bernie saw a little bit of Elesha Sulless in Serena Campbell as those brown eyes turned hard and a mask washed over that beautiful face. She didn't want that for Serena. She didn't want her to have to pretend she didn't have a heart while the heart she did have was hurting. Was Bernie the cause of this? Was she causing harm to this woman she loved so dearly?

The sight before her told her that, yes, she was hurting Serena. And she couldn't have that. The only way to stop it was to detach herself. She had to walk away now so that she couldn't inflict any lasting damage upon Serena, and so that she could save herself the added complication of falling any deeper in love.

So she turned around, grabbed her coat and bag and said, “I'm going to get changed and go home. Goodnight, Serena.”


	8. Interrupted

Time flew. The hours turned into days, the days into weeks...soon enough, a month had passed since Bernie's conscious decision that night to cut Serena out of the mayhem. Elesha Sulless had gone to her first counselling session, was on anti-depressants and was living with her parents while she recovered. Life for that girl was finally on the up, and Bernie did her best to be glad for her.

But time did not fly because Bernie was having fun. Quite the opposite, in fact. Time flew because the connections were broken; Bernie Wolfe no longer lived. She survived, and she managed to keep the terror down while in the company of her colleagues. But she did not live.

Behind closed doors, when the shift was finished and the drinks were gone, Bernie struggled with herself every night. Anxiety attacks were being triggered more frequently than ever, and by things Bernie had never even considered could ever be triggers. Rather than rely on someone else, she had researched how to help herself out of it, though it was never simple or easy. And once she finally fell asleep, restless and uneasy, she was haunted by a twisted combination of memory and imagination, past and present, so that more than once she had woke up screaming her flat down. Honestly, it was a wonder none of her neighbours had called the police to report a disturbance of the peace yet.

Nobody was there. Nobody lay next to her in bed; she could not afford herself that luxury at the expense of the stress levels of another person.

Most nights, between two and three o'clock, Bernie paced the length of her hallway several times over, every light in the flat burning.

All too often, she felt like a zombie by the time she arrived on AAU. On top of the almost constant rush of anxiety, she also had to contend with the scrutinising looks from Henrik Hanssen, and the silent search of her face and body every time she was faced with Serena Campbell. And though Bernie loved the woman to bits, she found herself avoiding Serena as much as humanly possible these days.

That particular Wednesday morning was a bad one. Not only had Bernie woke up at ten past two, but she had not got back to sleep, and had not gone to bed until after midnight, in the first place. She was effectively functioning on under two hours' sleep. She was so bloody _tired_. Every bone and muscle in her ached; every fibre of her being screamed to be allowed some peace. There was a part of her – and it was increasing in proportion – that wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. To leave this way of life behind. There was no way out of this. There was no cure for it.

As she stripped off to a vest and pants, she was on autopilot, throwing on those purple scrubs as she did any other day. It was monotonous. That, she had not expected; of all the things that could be monotonous, anxiety and nightmares were the last on Bernie's list of causes. How strange it was that she could get so used to being anxious and in pain that it bored her. Now all she felt was exhaustion. The drive to live had all but abandoned her so quickly.

She worked, and had to be reminded by Raf that it was lunchtime and she ought to eat and drink something. Though she was not in any way hungry, she headed to Pulses and sat down with a coffee and a pastry. The pastry remained untouched. The coffee seared her throat but she relished its burn – at least her physical nerves knew what they were doing, since her mental nerve had broken.

Bernie looked around her. A month ago, she had overturned this very table when she mistook gunfire on the television for gunfire on the battlefield. A _month_. How had she turned into this in the space of a mere month?

Serena Campbell stood in the queue for the coffee stand, and Bernie, who had nothing better to do, watched her. Serena had tried to get through to her for the first week or so, but slowly yet surely seemed to have given up on her. She did not stop asking the question of, “Are you alright?” but each day she pressed less and less for an honest answer.

Serena turned around and Bernie hastily looked down into her coffee cup. She didn't want a conversation. The less she talked to Serena – to people, in general – the better. Talking held no interest for her anymore; her heart wasn't in it at all, and every time she had to speak to people she knew, she wanted to run for the hills.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Serena's stretch of backing off had come to a halt. Bernie didn't need to look up to know that Serena had sat down in the chair opposite her. She could smell the fresh coffee and the cinnamon from a pastry that was just placed on the table. Bernie did not lift her head. Instead, she stared into the murky depths of her coffee cup, dreading the moment that Serena opened her mouth.

That moment arrived too soon for Bernie's liking.

“You haven't touched your lunch,” Serena quietly said, her voice disgustingly cheerful and conversational – so much so that Bernie had to bite back her retort of, “Oh, do shut up.”

In the knowledge that she worked with Serena and had to at least be civil, she eventually muttered, “Not that hungry,” though she still did not tear her gaze from the vessel of brown liquid before her. She didn't want to say anything at all to Serena. In fact, she wished Serena would just sod off back to the ward and leave her in peace, rather than have her feel like she was walking a knife's edge in her presence.

Serena's hand fell onto Bernie's, and she immediately pulled the limb out of Serena's reach. It wasn't that she didn't want Serena to touch her – no, she very much wanted the human contact of someone she loved. The problem was that she didn't want to let anyone in to see what she was hiding.

Worn out, Bernie stood up and walked away, leaving her poor excuse for a lunch abandoned at the table with Serena.

This was a miserable existence, Bernie pondered on the stairs. No good could come of it.

And to add to her miserable existence, every time she laid eyes on Serena Campbell, her heart broke with regret, love and guilt. Oh, how she loved Serena. She had done for a while now.

It was between the ground and first floors that she passed Jasmine Burrows and Dominic Copeland on the stairs. Whatever facial expression she wore must have alarmed them because Jasmine's voice echoed out, “You okay, Ms. Wolfe?” Dom looked downright worried, while Jasmine's concern was mingled with a healthy shot of curiosity. Unable to speak, Bernie just forced a smile and nodded before she continued up the stairs.

Mere seconds later, she found Zosia March in her path. “Ms. Wolfe?” she smiled, waving a hand in front of her face.

Bernie knew better than to think she could get past Zosia without opening her mouth, so she cleared her throat, croaky with lack of use, and replied, “Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. Late night, you know.” It wasn't a lie, at least not the last part, she reasoned with herself.

Zosia, though she seemed far from completely convinced, smiled warmly and patted her arm, and then she continued on her way.

Bernie walked on, accepting that her journey would be repeatedly interrupted. It was almost predictable, the way she met Hanssen on the fifth floor stairwell. “Ms. Wolfe? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Bernie smiled, wondering how that was playing out on her face.

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“Of course,” she grinned; she only hoped that it looked sunnier than the horrible grimace she was imagining was now gracing her features. Hanssen was not easily fooled, so Bernie wasn't surprised when he shot her a look that was a cross between concern and suspicion and curtly nodded, before he retreated back onto the corridor for whatever reason, pulling out his phone as he turned his back on her.

Rolling her eyes slightly, she started to trudge up the next flight of steps. With not even the vaguest notion of where she was headed, she ambled slowly along, not caring for speed or haste to reach any destination.

It was only at the foot of the highest set of stairs in the hospital that Bernie realised where her subconscious was taking her. Of course, she saw no reason not to comply with decisions her own mind made for her. It knew what was best for her. So she shrugged her shoulders and put her foot on that first step. She didn't really know if it took her five seconds or five minutes to reach that last door. Somewhere in between, she guessed, since she was now moving so slowly. She pulled down the handle and went to push the door open, but startled and instantly took her hand away.

A voice had sounded from the bottom of the stairs, its echo bouncing off the walls and ringing in Bernie's ears. “Ms. Wolfe. I've been trying to hunt you down.”

Bernie painted a beam on her face and turned around to find Jac Naylor staring up the flight of stairs at her. “Oh, yes? And what might you want with me?”

“I'd like your opinion on a case,” Jac answered. Bernie did not move; there had been no trauma cases admitted today, as far as she knew. “Patient just came in. Male, early thirties, crush injuries to the chest and abdomen. Come and see the scans,” Jac insisted, beckoning Bernie down with the hand that did not hold an iPad.

It was with an internal sigh that she made her way back down the steps and held her hand out for the tablet. However, Jac was tapping away furiously at it. “ _How_ many times do I have to tell Ollie not to passcode these damn things?!” she exclaimed, walking back down the corridor to the lift. “Oh, for God's sake, it's locked me out for a whole minute!” she growled, viciously pressing the “down” button for the lift. “Sorry about this,” she added to Bernie as she held up the screen for her to see the message that it was disabled for one minute.

“Oh, it's alright,” Bernie replied hoarsely. “Those things are more trouble than they're worth sometimes.”

Seemingly absent-mindedly, Jac pressed the button for the ground floor once they entered the lift, and said, “Right, what would he use for a passcode? He's not _that_ bright.” Jac tried the obvious “one-two-three-four” and “one-four-seven-one” to no avail. And as the doors opened onto AAU and Bernie stepped out, she sighed and poked the button for the sixth floor with unnecessary venom. “I'm going to have to go back up to Darwin and get the passcode. And wring Valentine's neck,” she added as an afterthought. “Sorry for wasting your time, Ms. Wolfe,” Jac smiled slightly.

“Don't worry about it,” Bernie assured her, and she let the doors close on the redheaded consultant.

But once she was alone in the office she shared with Serena, she slumped into her chair and exhaled slowly. She had been one interruption from being a puddle of mush at the bottom of the hospital. One interruption from being free of anxiety, monotony and exhaustion. The only reason she was sitting here in this chair was Jac Naylor, not that the woman knew it. And even if she did know it, somehow Bernie doubted that Jac was the type to care very much.

The door opened, and Serena stepped in. Bernie immediately looked around at her computer and started to log in, just to avoid looking at or speaking to Serena. However, she could feel Serena's glare burning through her, and was left with no choice, after over a minute of this same stare etching itself into the back of her head, to turn around.

“Something wrong?” Bernie pleasantly asked. She was becoming weary of her peace (or quite often, the lack thereof) being interrupted.

Did Serena know? Did she somehow know that Bernie had very nearly been on the roof for reasons other than quiet contemplation?

“Please get some help, Bernie,” Serena implored her, her voice low.

Bernie forced out a short bark of a laugh. “Where has this come from?” she demanded.

“You've been going around this place like a suicidal hermit for weeks!”

“Oh, give it a rest,” snapped Bernie, getting to her feet. She didn't have the energy left to have the patience for Serena's worrying, especially given her choice of words. Did she have any idea how accurate she was at this moment? Was there any way she knew that she had nearly had to start planning Bernie's funeral? “I'm doing my job, aren't I? I've not let anyone die. There's been no catastrophes! None that were my fault anyway!”

“What planet are you on?!” Serena asked. Her voice was rising as quickly as Bernie's had, and it was never a good sign when both of them had their tempers stretched. “What does it matter that you can do your job when you can't be content, never mind happy?!”

“Don't be so ridiculous!” shouted Bernie. “I am _fine_ , and even if I weren't, it would be absolutely nothing to do with you!”

Serena laughed. “I'm being ridiculous, am I? Ask anyone who's looked in your direction in the past month and they'll tell you the same thing! You are not well!”

Bernie groaned and made for the door, but Serena blocked her way. “Move,” hissed Bernie, very angry now. It was almost a novelty, to break the stream of anxiety with another emotion.

“No.”

Bernie put her hands on the tops of Serena's folded arms and tried to forcibly remove her, but she was far stronger than she looked. “Damn it, Campbell, get out of my way!” Bernie ordered her. “Now!” she bellowed.

“I am _not_ one of your subordinates, Major Wolfe!”

The door was thrown open and Raf stood at the threshold, Morven at his back. “Break it up, you two!” he yelled at them. Bernie's mouth fell open at the realisation that the whole ward had just heard her fighting Serena Campbell.

Bernie didn't know what she was meant to do. There was no procedure for this. There were no rules.

Control had finally deserted her.


	9. Burning and Building

Bernie stared around her. This was not good; all she needed now was for Raf or Morven to summon Hanssen and get both her and Serena in trouble. This, after all, was Bernie's problem – it didn't needed to be Serena's too. Besides, by the sounds of it, Hanssen had plenty of his own to deal with. He didn't need to know about this.

However, Raf's reaction was not what Bernie had been expecting. He made no indication that he was going to involve anyone else. “Go for a walk,” he advised them. “Get some air. And Bernie, eat something. You'll feel better with food in your stomach.”

“How did you-” Bernie began to demand. She stopped short only because she worked out the answer for herself. Serena must have told him.

“Go,” Raf ordered them. “Morven and I are perfectly capable of covering the ward. If there's any emergencies, we'll page you.”

Bernie gazed at Serena, looking for how to respond. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with her, but Bernie also knew they couldn't continue this conversation here, and that she was being given no choice but to continue it somewhere. Serena just nodded, and Raf left them alone. Morven looked like she thought if she left them, blood would be shed, but she followed Raf back to work nonetheless, closing the door behind her.

Frozen, Bernie did not move. Instead she fixed her gaze on the floor, for she did not want to see how much this was hurting Serena. She wanted to stop hurting those she loved, but that would mean opening up, something she felt less than capable of at this point in time. But a hand fell into hers, and their fingers interlocked in a gesture of resolute and unwavering solidarity.

It was meant as a comfort. A sign of love and friendship. But it was dangerous. Revealing. Panic-inducing. “Bernie,” Serena murmured. “Bernie, look at me. Please.”

But Bernie couldn't. She couldn't do it. She didn't have the energy to make the effort to pretend she was fine anymore. That had lasted about a fortnight before the sleepless nights and the lack of an appetite kicked in and drained her of what strength she'd had left. Rather than look at Serena, or anyone, for that matter, she let herself be dragged by the hand from the office and then from the ward.

It only took a couple of minutes for Serena to have them out into Pulses, and she lined up at the coffee counter. “What are you doing?” Bernie asked her.

“Getting you something to eat,” Serena answered. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Um...” Bernie said. Come to think of it, she couldn't actually remember. Was it yesterday morning? Or was it the morning before? Damn. Could she really have gone two and a half days without eating? “I don't know,” she admitted, though she was more than reluctant to do so. “I don't know if it was yesterday or Monday morning.”

Serena allowed her face to betray her for only a moment; in that moment, though, she revealed how worried and scared she was. Bernie looked at her feet, ashamed of herself for not behaving like a rational human being, and for the way she was upsetting those around her, particularly Serena. However, that fear in Serena's face brought up a huge surge of love within Bernie, for it was the evidence that her feelings had half a chance of being reciprocated.

Soon enough, they were sitting on the bench under the tree, with cups of coffee and a sandwich for Bernie. The sun beating down on them did not feel warm. It made no difference to the temperature Bernie felt her skin at. She still was cold.

Eating a sandwich under Serena's stern watch, Bernie had to wonder if the complexity of her feelings for the woman was just making it more difficult to feel okay. Was it just adding to the confusion? She probably could do without the fear that she might say the wrong thing and alienate the person she found herself loving with all her heart. But, still, it was Serena. As far as she knew, Serena had never been romantically involved with a woman before, and had never expressed a desire to change that.

But that was wrong.

Serena did express a desire to change that. Hanssen had made a good point a month ago – who was closer to Serena Campbell than Bernie? And she could have sworn Serena was about to kiss her when Elesha Sulless was admitted. Was she really in a position to have her best friend for a lover?

Bernie had already eaten the first half of her sandwich; she had not realised that she was hungry until she had started eating. “You're starving,” Serena observed, not entirely helpfully. Of course she was starving now that she had realised she'd not eaten anything in at least thirty-six hours, or perhaps fifty. “You're going to have to start looking after yourself.”

“Yes, Mum,” Bernie quipped.

“I'm serious,” she persisted. “Hunger will just make you feel worse.”

“I'm fine,” shrugged Bernie, unable to give up that pretence just yet. “Thanks for this, by the way,” she added as she held up the second half of her sandwich.

“Bernie,” Serena sighed. “Stop.” She pulled out her phone and unlocked it, tapped away for a moment until she passed the device to Bernie.

On the screen was a text message from Jac Naylor, sent eleven minutes ago: _Keep an eye on Bernie Wolfe. She's not well. Jac_

Bernie sighed. How had Jac known? She had behaved like a normal person in front of Jac for the very reason than the redhead could see through brick walls. She gave the phone back to Serena, who said, “What happened, Bernie?”

She sighed. How was she meant to explain this when she hadn't realised what she was doing or where she was going until she was almost there? “There's no trauma patient on Darwin, is there?” Bernie realised. It had been an excuse to start a conversation. There were no scans, hence the theatrics about Oliver passcoding the iPad.

“Not as far as I know,” Serena replied, looking confused now. “Why?”

“Jac told me there was to get me onto the ground floor.”

Hanssen. It must have been Hanssen – he was the only one she met on that staircase Jac would have taken seriously. He must have told her to intercept Bernie if she got to the top floor. All the others had been junior doctors, whom Jac generally regarded with disdain.

“Why? Where were you?”

Bernie stared Serena in the face, knowing that Serena had to have an inkling about what happened by now, even if nobody had spelled it out for her.

“If you were on the roof, Bernie, so help me, I'll kill you myself.”

“I wasn't on the roof.” That wasn't a lie – she never got to set foot onto the roof.

“I can go and ask Jac,” Serena warned her, her dark eyes ablaze with ferocity and passion. “She'll tell me the truth. She had to watch a nurse fall from a roof at Christmas. I had to watch a father fall off two years ago. So if you were on or anywhere near a bloody roof, tell me now, before I have to involve Jac Naylor.”

“I...” Bernie began, searching Serena's eyes for the strength and the courage to admit that she didn't really know what was happening to her. “I, uh, I didn't get onto the roof. I got to the door before Jac found me and said she needed my help with a patient.”

Serena turned around and grabbed Bernie by the arms, so hard that there was a fair chance she would find finger-shaped bruises there when she took her hoodie off. What shocked Bernie more, though, was the fact Serena's eyes were filled with tears. It didn't surprise her, given how much she now knew Serena cared, but the strong, intense reaction her confession evoked shocked her all the same. “Never do that again,” whispered Serena.

“I can't promise that,” Bernie said. “I didn't know I was doing it until I got to the door. It didn't dawn on me that I was going to jump until I was nearly on the roof.”

The look on Serena's face said it all. Bernie ought not to have said anything, but she had been left with no choice. The last thing either of them needed was for Serena to hear from Jac Naylor where she had been heading. Anxiety started to take over; her hands shook and her heart started to race. She didn't know what was going to happen. She was not in control of this situation.

Everything was up in flames, and Bernie was the one holding the petrol tin and the matchbox. She had come here to build a new life. A civilian life. But it was easier to burn than to build.

She was hurting Serena again, and she couldn't handle that. It was bad enough that she was in pain without damaging others too. But those who were in control of this situation – Serena, Hanssen, Raf, Jac – could make it so much harder. They could force her hand. They might cause her so much damage without even realising what they'd done. So she tore Serena's hands from her arms and got to her feet; she did what was best for both of them and walked away.

“Bernie!” called Serena. It was reminiscent of that night outside Serena's house, when she had run barefoot after Bernie. Why was she making Serena chase her? Well, she wasn't, really. That was something Serena chose to do. But Bernie knew that was what Serena would always choose, so why keep controlling her that way?

Breath was escaping Bernie's reach now. This was what happened every time she had to think about what state her mind was in. It was an endless cycle that was so often triggered by merely being in this position where she couldn't save herself, and she couldn't protect those people she loved most. When she couldn't be a soldier, she panicked. When she felt weak, when she felt like she just might be defeated, she panicked. And when she could be a soldier, but it did not feel right, and it did not come easily to her, then she panicked more than ever.

That was where she was now. She was protecting Serena. She was being what she had always been. But it wasn't her first instinct. Her first instinct at this moment was either to flee permanently and risk breaking Serena's heart, or else to collapse and let Serena have this burden of a woman whose mental state was on the steepest of slopes. To walk away and fight alone was not what this soldier wanted to do at all, and it crippled her.

Her feet, though they moved forwards, felt like they were not there. There was a boa constrictor around her chest, crushing her lungs and her diaphragm. Breathing was something she could not do, but still she walked wards the hospital. She could inhale but once the air was in her lungs it would not go. She could not breathe out and yet her body insisted on breathing in, despite the fact her lungs did not have the capacity to take in any more air.

Trying to walk without oxygen, though, proved to be agonisingly painful by the time she got into the hospital. She had been vaguely aware that Serena was following her – she hadn't really expected anything else, though she had hoped Serena might give up – but she hadn't realised how closely. So when she got into the lift, she was followed by Serena and, alarmingly, Henrik Hanssen. That was just what she needed, Hanssen to see her in the middle of an anxiety attack she couldn't seem to get herself out of.

So with Hanssen on one side and Serena on the other, Bernie tried to look like she was breathing by moving her chest. It worked for about ten seconds until she choked and the oxygen-deprived muscles in her legs gave way.

She was dying. This was killing her. Soon, she would stop breathing completely – she was sure of it.

She felt hands on each of her arms as Serena and Hanssen supported her weight. “Breathe, Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen urged her, but she couldn't do anything but zone out to the shining roof of the metal box in which they travelled. “Bernie, look at me!” he half-shouted, only to get her attention. And she did. She looked at Hanssen and then at Serena, who looked frightened and somewhat helpless. “Exhale. Breathe out,” he instructed her. “Ms. Campbell, stop the lift, please.”

Serena flipped a switch on the metal wall and instantly came back to Bernie's side. “Do as Henrik says, Bernie,” she quietly ordered her. “Concentrate. Try and breathe out for me.”

So Bernie focused. She forced her mind onto the actions of her body, and she managed to push some of the air out of her lungs. The effect was instant; just a little bit of the panic was starting to leave her as her body became less saturated. She did inhale again, but not enough to go back into the position where she thought her lungs might explode.

“Good. Very good. Well done,” Hanssen said, his tone soothing and not half as austere as it usually was. “Again, Ms. Wolfe.”

She trusted him more this time and did not hesitate. She repeated the cycle again and felt more relief on her chest. The third time she did it, the pain started to recede. The fourth time, though she was still breathing a little abnormally, she could breathe in such a way that she was no longer harming her body.

When she could stand up, she couldn't speak. And even if she could, what was she meant to say?

She could stand, but she felt weak, and could not help but lean into the cold, hard wall of this tiny metal box. Both of Serena's arms were around her waist but Bernie didn't have the energy left in her to fight that. Hanssen switched the lift back on and the doors opened to AAU almost immediately, but nobody got out. Bernie didn't want to get out. She wanted to lie down somewhere because now that the adrenaline was gone, she was exhausted.

Instead, they left the doors close and Hanssen pressed the button for the fifth floor, and came back to stand with his hand on the top of her back.

Too tired to protest, when the doors opened, she let Serena and Hanssen take her to the CEO's office. Bernie and Serena fell onto the sofa.

“You're okay,” Serena whispered, her fingers brushing the hair out of her eyes while her other hand still held Bernie close to her.

But Serena was wrong. How was this alright? On what planet was having two colleagues help her because she'd had an anxiety attack so intense that she collapsed just fine?

“I'm not,” Bernie contradicted, her voice hoarse from the abuse her body had just taken. Hanssen closed the door and pulled up a chair opposite where Bernie and Serena sat. “This is _not_ okay,” she acknowledged, looking from Serena to Hanssen and from Hanssen to Serena.

The earthquake hit her. The emotions buried by anxiety for the past month shook her core. Suddenly she was angry, hurt, sad, in love, exhausted, terrified...all at once. And with the earthquake came the tsunami of tears, because where else was that emotion meant to go in a person who didn't know how to express it?

Unable to curb it, Bernie sobbed. Her head was pulled down to Serena's chest, and all there was left to do was burn. She let herself burn. She understood it now. She understood why she found it so impossible to build her new life. If she was to survive this life, she had to rebuild some fundamental parts of herself. It wasn't easier to burn than to build at all – it was just impossible to build without burning, and it was impossible to burn without feeling the agony she so desperately wanted to avoid.


	10. Three People in a Room...

Serena sat with Bernie in her arms, staring at Hanssen, slightly terrified. That had escalated quickly. It was surprising, actually, how well Hanssen – the man who was known for keeping his distance – was dealing with this. He had reached out for Bernie's hand and squeezed it tightly, and Bernie had squeezed his hand in return.

How was Serena supposed to deal with this? She only really knew how to deal with mental illness of her own, and even then she struggled. Yes, she had given advice to Guy and Zosia, but only from her own experience. This was different. This was Bernie, and she loved Bernie too much to be able to maintain the same distance she had managed to keep from Zosia. It was territory she had not explored. She had dealt with Jason and his Asperger's syndrome, but he wasn't likely to commit suicide, as Bernie had almost done today.

Bernie's control over her emotions was completely gone. She howled like a wounded animal, and it shattered Serena's heart. She had to be in so much pain, to make such a noise. It was all Serena could do to pull Bernie's head tight to her chest and press her face into that mess of golden hair, still staring up at Hanssen, like he could do anything to help in that moment.

“I'm going to go down to AAU and cover for you both,” he quietly told them. “Take your time, and if you need me, call.” His look at Serena was stern yet still understanding, like he had an inkling of what both of them were going through. It was becoming clearer with every passing day that there were very few people in the world who had gone through life without seeing or experiencing mental illness. “Bernie,” he addressed her directly. Serena loosened her grip so Bernie could turn, but she refused to do so. “Look at me, please.”

What was he doing? Did he even know what he was doing? “Henrik,” Serena began to carefully stop him, but, to her utmost shock, he shook his head, briefly raised his hand, and touched her knee in a signal of comfort and a silent request for her to trust him here.

“Look at me, please,” he repeated himself. Serena gave Bernie a soft nudge (she was still weeping uncontrollably) and eventually, Bernie did look around at Henrik. “When I saw you on the stairs earlier today, were you heading for the roof?”

Though she looked reluctant to do so, Bernie nodded her head.

“If Ms. Naylor hadn't crossed your path, would you have jumped?”

It dawned on Serena then; it was no coincidence that Jac had been on the top floor of the hospital. Hanssen had pulled one of his cunning plans and instructed Jac to intervene, and for him to do that, there must have been a sure sign that all was not well when he had seen Bernie on the stairs.

Slowly, Bernie nodded her head again.

“Alright,” he sighed. “You listen to me, Berenice Wolfe. My mother committed suicide when I was a child, so I am in a position to be frank about the impact taking your own life would make. It isn't the answer to this. All it does is take your pain and pass it to someone who loves you. In this case, to your children and to Serena.” It was a side to Hanssen that Serena had never encountered before. Honest. Fierce and yet somehow still gentle. “You're not just a soldier and a surgeon. You're a mother, and you're a friend, and you're a woman. A person. A person who is worth much more than an early death. Do you understand me?”

Speechless, Serena tore her gaze from Hanssen and looked down at Bernie; though she was looking Henrik in the face, she was still leaning across Serena's chest, and she still had Serena's arms wrapped around her.

Serena had known Hanssen four years now. How had she not known his mother had killed herself?

She realised that she did not know Hanssen very well at all. She only knew of him what he allowed her to see – his actions, his reactions and his words. Behind that, there was a man about whom she knew very little. She was as guilty of making assumptions as everyone else she knew was.

“Bernie?” Hanssen pressed her, though still softly; his dark eyes briefly betrayed the pain seeing Bernie Wolfe like this caused him.

If Serena hadn't seen Bernie's lips move, she wouldn't have been sure she said it, as her voice was so quiet and broken, but Bernie muttered, “I hear you,” very hoarsely, still crying. She seemed completely unable to stop.

“Good,” he replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Alright, I'm going to go down to AAU and help out. I'll see you soon.”

“Thanks, Henrik,” Serena smiled at him, craning her neck to do so now that he was on his feet. He nodded and said no more about it before leaving Serena and Bernie on their own.

The silence was ripped apart as Bernie's crying became wounded howling again, now that she wasn't having to listen to Henrik, and compose herself to do so. Serena pulled Bernie in again and rocked her gently, the way she would have done with Ellie twenty years ago.

This side to Bernie was frightening. To see it hurt horribly, because Serena knew there was so little that she could do to help. All she could do was stay and hope her mere presence made a difference to how this would play out. There was obviously no chance of getting a proper conversation from Bernie right now, which meant they couldn't talk through why she was so unwell and upset. Serena felt so _helpless_. She had become so accustomed to being in a situation she could control that she didn't really know what the right thing to do here was.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if, once upon a time, she had been too harsh on Edward for his mishandling of her mental illness. Now, of course, the tables had turned and Edward was the one with a reliance upon alcohol, but that was not her responsibility anymore. He had a new wife for that; unless it was going to strike through her or Ellie's life, or perhaps Bernie's, it wasn't her place these days.

“You should have come to me, Bernie,” she sighed into Bernie's hair. “I would have helped you, or at least did my best. You don't have to go through this alone.”

Bernie didn't answer, and Serena did not expect her too. She had to let Bernie cry this out. It was the only way. That did not mean that Serena couldn't talk to her, though; it only meant that Bernie wasn't in any fit state to answer.

“You know,” Serena carefully began, before she realised that if there was any time she could do some good with what once became her hell, this was it. “The idea of going it alone is a good one, in theory. You get to control the situation, and you get to control the damage you do to other people. But it doesn't work like that in practice,” she said, allowing herself a sad smile. “The problem with putting that theory into practice is that there's no way for you to keep taking body blows all day, every day. There comes a time where you actually have to make a choice between living and dying, and I always found that the lonelier I felt, the more I leaned towards choosing to die.”

Serena smiled again, this time slightly bitterly. “Edward was no help at all. Sometimes he wanted to help and went about it in the worst way he could possibly dream up, and other times, he washed his hands of it and went and got drunk, or he lost patience with me and slung any insult he could think of at me. That was always what pushed me over the edge – feeling like I wasn't good enough because I was ill. When I felt like he loved me, it felt like I could at least survive.”

Bernie was definitely listening, because at the mention of love, she pulled herself closer. So Serena just continued. This wasn't going to go any further than Bernie, so what was the harm? It might even help Bernie to understand it wasn't a bad thing to rely on someone.

“See, the thing is, when you push people away, you stop distinguishing between the ones who love you and the ones who don't,” she mused. “They all become just faceless figures to you, because you just think of them as people you need protected from, and who need protected from you. You push them away because you don't want them to see what's happening to you, for both your sakes. I managed to get out of that hole without Edward's help, and usually with his hindrance,” Serena explained quietly. “You don't have to, Bernie. I was on a different continent from my mother, and with a husband who was doing me more harm than good. You're here, where your children are, where I am, and I _want_ to help you. Not because I feel obligated to – that was the only reason Edward ever made any effort at all – but because...” she trailed away, wondering how best to put this.

She didn't want to mention the word “love.” It could only complicate matters, even if Bernie needed to know that someone did love her. There were too many threads to untangle and Bernie wasn't capable of it right now. So she settled on something that meant “I love you” instead. “Because you mean the world to me, and I can't imagine my life without you now. It wouldn't be the same. There would be a massive Bernie-shaped hole I would never be able to fill.”

Serena looked down to find that she had not noticed Bernie's sobs fading to silent tears, and that Bernie was now just staring up at her, looking utterly exhausted. “Sleep,” she urged gently. “Come on.” She helped lay Bernie out on the sofa and took Hanssen's vacated chair, and held Bernie's hand.

Slowly but surely, Bernie fell asleep, her hair strewn over her face and her hoodie crinkled up at the waist. With a sigh, Serena stood up, knowing she had to go and relieve Hanssen, or at least talk to him; she smiled down at Bernie's sleeping form. She did not look peaceful, but she looked beautiful. So Serena quietly stepped over and moved the hair out of Bernie's face, and kissed her head gently.

Serena left the office, closing the door silently behind her. The last thing she wanted to do was wake Bernie with the slam of a door. She got to the lift and headed down to AAU, trying to figure out what to say to Hanssen and what he might say to her. She didn't have time to plot it, though, because all too soon, the doors opened onto the ward; she instantly spotted Henrik, easily the tallest person on the ward, bending over the nurses' station to scribble something down. “Ah, Ms. Campbell,” he greeted her, like nothing had happened. He clearly seemed to be hiding the reality of the situation from everyone else, for which she was sure Bernie would be very grateful. “May I have a word with you in your office?”

“Of course,” she answered, keeping up the calm guise under the watchful gaze of Fletch, Raf and Morven.

When they got into the office, with the door closed, Serena sat down and rubbed her temples for a moment, and Hanssen sat in the chair at the window. “How is she?” he asked her.

“Asleep in your office.”

“How are you?” Serena looked up at him, curious. “It's a stressful situation,” he elaborated. “It's bound to upset you when a person who means so much to you is in so much pain.”

“I'm alright,” Serena eventually sighed. “How are you feeling?” she added, only to be met with the same expression she had just given him. “I know you care, Henrik. I'm not stupid. I could see you were struggling back there.”

He stared at her for a moment before he gave his reply. “I'll be fine.”

“Listen, I didn't know about your mother,” she told him. “I'm sorry.”

“What have you go to be sorry about?” he demanded of her, obviously genuinely confused. “You didn't know because I don't tell anyone. Today was the exception. If my experience of losing my mother can convince someone else that suicide isn't the only option, and that it's not actually that bright an idea, then I'm going to use it. Goodness knows I don't like thinking about it, but sometimes another's need is greater than my own.”

Serena smiled slightly at his bravery, and wondered why it even surprised her. It was such a Hanssen-ish thing to do, really, underneath that cold and businesslike mask. And it was then that something occurred to her, and if she had to explain herself, she didn't care. It was no good for anyone to ignore the fact these things happened. “You know, it's more common than you'd think,” she said. “Mental illness,” she added when Hanssen shot her a questioning glance. “Three people in a room, two of whom have attempted suicide and one whose mum killed herself. Makes you wonder why nobody speaks about it, really.”

Hanssen's eyes widened slightly. “You tried to kill yourself?”

“Twice. Damn near managed it, too, if Edward hadn't interfered like he always does.”

“I didn't know, Serena.”

“Why on Earth would you know?” she said. “It's not something I broadcast. If I thought you'd go shouting about it, I wouldn't have told you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating one another, and Bernie, until Hanssen eventually spoke again. “Perhaps we should move Ms. Wolfe to the on-call room. She'd be more comfortable there, I think.”

“I don't think waking her is a good idea,” Serena warned.

“I wasn't going to wake her.”

Serena smiled, realising what he meant. He was going to carry her down. “Come on, then.”

When they got back to the office, Bernie seemed to be completely out of it, and Serena could hardly blame her. She had looked exhausted enough when she arrived at work this morning, never mind now that she'd had an anxiety attack and had cried her heart out. With strength Serena had never known he possessed, Henrik scooped Bernie up into his arms. She stirred as Serena closed the office door behind them.

Bernie's eyes fluttered open slightly, but Serena didn't let her wake up properly. Instead, she rested a hand on her leg and said, “It's alright. We're just taking you to the on-call room. You'll get a decent sleep and I'll be nearby.” Bernie closed her eyes again and attached herself tightly to Hanssen while they got into the lift and Serena pressed the button for the ground floor. They would have to cross AAU but Serena already had an explanation ready for anyone who asked.

And sure enough, when they got out the lift and onto the ward, Raf, Morven and Fletch all shot alarmed and curious glances over at them, though they knew better than to say anything at that particular moment.

Hanssen lay Bernie down and Serena pulled the covers over her, wondering what was going to happen to her. To them. After all, by Bernie's own admission, this could not continue. The terrifying reality was that it could kill her.

Serena could feel Hanssen's gaze burning through her, studying both her and the situation. Was the fear she felt on visible on her face? She tried her best to hide it but she knew better than anyone that it didn't always work out the way she wanted it to. She was slightly irritated with herself when that question was finally answered by Hanssen's hand on her shoulder, and the words, “It's still Bernie. She's just a bit ill. Don't be so scared of the things you love.”


	11. The Mediator

_The air was cooling, and the sky was setting; she looked around her, only to find herself in the middle of nowhere. There was a soft and indistinguishable music playing, something she knew but could not name, so she looked around for the source. All she could see was the bare land, no trees or buildings, just the heath._

_The clouds were lilac against a pink sky, darkening with every passing minute. She looked down at herself, and saw she was wearing a navy blue dress, though her feet were bare. “Mum,” a familiar pair of voices called to her. Walking towards her were Cameron and Charlotte, their feet bare on the ground._

“ _Bernie,” another voice said, much quieter than the first two. Jason approached, also barefoot – but that was something he wouldn't have done. Behind him walked Elinor, whom Bernie had never actually met, but looked a lot like Serena._

_She looked around for Serena, and, of course, found her striding through, wearing a green dress and no shoes, and a glittering smile._

_Serena was soon right in front of Bernie, their fingers interlocked, and their smiles wide. It was okay. Maybe they were all going to be okay. Their children were here, and Serena's nephew, of course, and they were accepted. They were loved._

_Bernie pulled Serena into an embrace, swaying to the music with her lover in her arms, at peace._

_A gunshot broke through the air._

_Elinor fell._

_Another shot took Cameron._

_The third downed Jason._

_The fourth was Charlotte's._

_The sun burned her as she looked around; the heath was desert, the heather was sand, the peace was war. The fallen lay strewn on the ground where they fell. Only Serena remained standing. Bernie looked down, and she was now in her army uniform. She did not have a weapon. She had nothing._

_All she could do was grab Serena's hand and run. Across the battlefield they sprinted, Serena still in a dress and bare feet, Bernie in camouflage and boots. They took cover behind the only standing object they could find – a truck, lying there unoccupied. Once hidden, Bernie turned and said to Serena, “I need you to help me.” She put her hands on Serena's arm and said, “I love you.”_

_Another gunshot, and blood oozed from a hole in Serena's forehead, her body limp and lifeless as it slumped against Bernie. “Serena!” she shouted, trying to support the dead weight. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't want to get you hurt!”_

_But she did not stir. All Bernie could do was sit there, Serena slouched dead across her chest, and wait for the assailants who took all she had to take her as well._

The low sun shone through the room, straight into Bernie's eyes. It woke her up. The sweat was cold on her back and her forehead, her hands trembling in fear of the dream she had just left.

With a soft grunt, she fumbled for the phone in her hoodie pocket to check the time. It was almost seven o'clock. There was an hour left of her shift. She sat up wearily; she had to do _something_ useful today, after all. Lying here sleeping wasn't at all helpful when there a busy ward out there to be run. Her head was killing her, but that was not a reason not to work.

She tread down the corridor carefully, somehow surprised that she had retained the ability to put one foot in front of the other. It was only when she buzzed herself onto AAU that she realised that they knew something was wrong with her; it dawned on her that she probably looked a pale, sweaty, shaky mess after that nightmare. Raf looked around at her and shared a dark look with Fletch, his eyes wide, while Morven ran to Hanssen and Serena.

Hanssen...what was Hanssen doing treating AAU patients? Wasn't he usually on Keller when he was being a doctor and not a CEO?

Serena's expression was so full of emotion that it was difficult for Bernie to decipher it all. Drawn as she always was to Serena, she allowed herself to gravitate over the ward to her. “I'm so sorry, Serena,” she murmured when she was within hearing distance.

She expected the third degree. She expected to be told never ever to do anything like that again. But Serena didn't do that. No, Serena looked scared. Was she frightened of Bernie? Was that what she was doing to the woman she loved so much?

Bernie didn't notice Hanssen had joined them until she saw Serena look up at him. “I think you need a moment, don't you?” he quietly told them. “And a mediator,” he added, seeing the confusion in Bernie and the fear in Serena. “We don't want a repeat of the altercation earlier.” Before he could be stopped, Hanssen had guided them into their office, and had sat down in the chair at the window.

This couldn't continue. Not here. Not where there were people she loved getting hurt. There was only one remedy for Serena's fear, and Bernie knew she had to give her it. “Mr. Hanssen,” she said, alarmed by how sore her throat was she talked, “I'm leaving. You'll have my resignation by tomorrow morning.” She did not look at Serena; though she didn't see it at the moment, this was what was best for Serena.

Hanssen sighed. “I won't accept it.”

Bernie stared at him. “Why?”

“With all due respect, Ms. Wolfe,” he began, his tone careful, “you are only trying to run from Ms. Campbell. Though you think that's good for her, I can assure you that it most definitely is not. You will never outrun your own mind, so here is as good a place as any to turn around and face it.”

“This _is_ what's best for Serena,” Bernie argued quietly. “Can't you see how scared she is when she looks at me?”

“She's scared of _losing_ you. Why on Earth would you do the very thing she's so frightened of happening?” he challenged her. There was a glint in his eye that made Bernie wonder if he relished the challenge of trying to convince her to stay.

“I'm not going to stay and hurt her.”

“Believe me, Ms. Wolfe,” Hanssen sighed, “leaving would be the best way to hurt Serena Campbell.”

“I am still here, you know!” Serena announced loudly, clearly a little irritated. “And I can speak for myself.”

“Then speak,” Hanssen told her severely. “It's the one thing you've not done. Either of you.”

“I tried to!” Serena exclaimed. “I tried to talk to her and she tried to forcibly move me!”

“You didn't talk to me,” Bernie said, looking at the floor so she didn't have to see the look on Serena's face. “You talked _at_ me, Serena.”

Bernie looked at Hanssen again; his countenance said that his patience was waning rapidly. What was it that he was seeing that they weren't? Why was he so exasperated by the fact that neither would open up to the other properly?

“I'm sorry,” Serena whispered, though Bernie did not move her gaze from Hanssen. There was something knowing about him, like he understood something they did not. “Bernie?”

“Why won't you leave me be, Serena?” Bernie demanded, finally looking around at her.

“Why won't you let me in?!” was Serena's quick and aggravated retorted.

Bernie opened her mouth to explain for what felt like the tenth time that all she wanted was to exist without hurting Serena, but their exchange was cut short by Hanssen's loss of patience. “Oh, for heaven's sake!” he snapped, looking back and forth between them. “You're both blind to what's so blatantly obvious to me, aren't you?”

Serena seemed slightly miffed. “Henrik, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Honestly,” he groaned. “I haven't wanted to curse and swear this much since I got a call to tell me my email had been hacked.” Serena snorted, and a tiny smile played on Hanssen's face. “If you are bright enough to get the information necessary to have me tracked down, you certainly are intelligent enough to see what is going on here,” he added, directly to Serena this time. Bernie allowed a wry smile when she worked out that Serena must have, at some point, had Hanssen's email hacked, for whatever reason.

“I...” Bernie began, but what was she supposed to say? Serena was staring at her now, her brown eyes still terrified of what might be said. All Bernie could do was repeat herself until Serena got the message. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“I don't care if you hurt me, as long as you're here to do it. You're too important for me to lose you over this when it's totally unnecessary.”

Dumbfounded, Bernie realised what Serena was trying to say, without actually saying it, and her mouth fell open. Serena _loved_ her. How could that be? How could such a brilliant woman love someone as damaged and pathetic as her? “Serena,” she mumbled, “you don't want to...I can't be good for you.”

“I don't care. You can't change the way I feel.”

“And finally the penny drops,” Hanssen grumbled, sounding rather like a wise but grumpy old man. “You know, for two people who are supposed to be so intelligent, you can be quite _unbelievably_ stupid.” There was a flash of amusement and what seemed to be pain on his face as he said it, though there was no way to know what he was thinking. He was being quite blunt, and Bernie couldn't help but be entertained by the knowledge that he was capable of it. “Now,” he continued, his tone more businesslike now, “Ms. Wolfe, for your own safety, I'd like you to go home with Ms. Campbell tonight, if she is agreeable.”

“Of course,” was Serena's instant agreement. “I was going to suggest it myself. I don't think it's a good idea to be rattling around that flat on your own,” she said to Bernie, who could not really fault the logic in the statement.

Bernie exhaled sharply and leaned against the desk. It was true that the last place she wanted to be was alone in that dark, empty flat. It didn't help matters at all. All it did was turn the shadows into ghosts, and she could not run from a ghost. She wasn't able to do it. Once upon a time, she might have managed, but she didn't have it in her to endure the chase now. Rationally, Serena's home was the best place for her and she was well aware of it. But she was as afraid of causing herself more harm as she was of causing Serena harm. What if she got there and starting the same madness she did the last time?

Hanssen stood up and put his hand on the door handle, but stopped and turned around. “I can safely say that the fear of loving and being loved may just ruin your lives. Bear that in mind.” He looked at them both for just a moment longer and then left, leaving a heavy silence between Bernie and Serena.

“Has he been here all afternoon?” Bernie asked, feeling guilty about adding to Hanssen's already massive workload.

“It's alright. I think he was enjoying himself. He's said in the past that he doesn't get to spend enough time just being a doctor,” Serena smiled.

“You know him quite well,” Bernie commented. She was only realising now that there was so much more to Henrik Hanssen that she ever thought there could be.

“Not as well as I'd thought. I didn't know his mother committed suicide.”

“We all need our secrets.”

“That's very true,” sighed Serena. She stepped forward, and Bernie had to make the conscious decision not to step back from her. “Bernie, you don't have to be scared of hurting me.”

Bernie looked down into her face and saw that there was no escaping this any longer. Her heart both soared and broke, for what she had wanted but had been so afraid of seemed to have happened. Not only did she love Serena Campbell, but it would seem that Serena Campbell loved her, too. Had this been two months ago, before her life had taken a tumble down a bumpy old hill, then Bernie might have considered it. But not now. Not when so much was at stake.

And suddenly, before she could do anything about it, she was in Serena's arms, and Serena was in hers. Her body was warm against Bernie's; it was almost a shock that she had felt cold enough for Serena to seem warm. Bernie was the cold night air and Serena was the camp fire. The warmth always won over the cold in the end, didn't it?

“Come on,” Serena sighed. “Let's go home. Henrik will cover us until the night shift comes in.”


	12. Halted

Bernie sat in the passenger seat of Serena's car as they pulled up at the house, and she had to wonder what the point was. After all, she was not making life any easier for Serena. She was making matters heinously complicated, because she was no longer capable of pretending she didn't need Serena's support.

And then there was Hanssen, the man who seemed to have gone out of his way to make sure she could rest, who pretty much banged Bernie and Serena's heads together, who was taking on much more than was required of him just to ease the burdens others had to bear. She had never seen Hanssen this way. She had only seen him as the brains of the hospital, but today she saw that he was the hospital's beating heart – she was sure she was not the first member of staff he had supported and she was certain she would not be the last.

She felt rather like an idiot, walking into that house, led by Serena. The warm air in the building washed over, though Bernie was unsure whether that made her feel better or worse. Just like earlier, it didn't go to her bones. Though she knew the air was warm, it could not make Bernie feel warm.

They went to the kitchen and set about finding something to eat; in the end, they settled on making a chicken curry. Bernie was cutting up the onions while Serena did the chicken, as Bernie had immediately remembered the effect onions had on Serena. Of course, they still stung Bernie's eyes, but not nearly as much, and she was better at hiding it. And anyway, her eyes were already hideously red enough that this could not make all that much difference. She had not yet looked in a mirror, but she didn't need to – her eyes _felt_ red and ugly.

Once they were sat down with their meal, Serena started the conversation Bernie knew they had to have tonight. “I really think you need to go to your GP and see what help you can get.”

Bernie stared at her plate, unable to answer that statement. It wasn't that she didn't understand where Serena was coming from. Indeed, if the shoe were on the other foot, she would have been dragging Serena by the scruff of the neck to a professional. However, Serena was not that person. She would not do that, whether or not it was in Bernie's best interests. She could not do it, and that wasn't a bad thing. It meant it was well and truly up to Bernie, and that was the only way any treatment was going to work, if she was ever to seek it. It was no use to be pushed into it if she didn't feel like she needed help.

And she did need help.

If today had taught her anything, it was that.

So yes, she would go to her GP, though only because what was left of her rational mind was winning the argument. It was nothing to do with Serena, really. It wasn't her burden to bear.

And yet, she seemed to hell bent upon bearing it anyway. Why was she so determined to take on this problem? But, Bernie now found herself questioning why she was so determined that Serena should play no part in helping her get by. It wasn't like she was forcing Serena – if she were, she'd have known about it by now because Serena Campbell did not allow anyone to force her in a direction she did not wish to go.

“I'll go,” Bernie murmured into her glass after taking a deep drink. “But don't expect miracles, Serena. Who knows? I might be a hopeless case.”

“You're not,” Serena instantly retorted. Bernie smiled. “What?” Serena added, now looking a little confused.

“I knew you'd say that. Thanks for trying to make me feel better, though. Much appreciated.”

“I mean it!” Serena said vehemently. “You are _not_ a hopeless case. You're strong enough to fight this thing down.”

Bernie stared at Serena. How could she have this much faith, when Bernie didn't have any at all? It was like Serena saw something, heard something, knew something, that Bernie did not. She was not naive enough to blindly believe in someone. No, Edward had taught her better than that, and Serena Campbell would never do that again. Realistically, Bernie knew Serena was not blindly believing in her. She was just able to see something Bernie could never find herself.

“And what if I'm not as strong as you seem to think I am?” Bernie asked quietly. “What if I go and make the effort and then find I lack whatever it is that I'll need to be happy?”

“You don't lack anything,” Serena argued. Bernie raised an eyebrow, just as Serena would if she had been the one to say that. “Okay, well, maybe patience and organisation. But other than that, you don't lack anything as a person.”

Bernie smiled again, recalling how big a mess the office had been when Serena came back from her suspension. How neat and tidy this home was, while Bernie's always looked like a bomb had hit it. It was another thing Serena didn't hate her for, really, leaving a mess in any room she occupied. But as she thought of the office, she also thought of how difficult she was finding work.

It wasn't that she didn't want to work – she really did want to – but the strain was getting to her. This was part of how she knew Serena was right and she wasn't well; a healthy Berenice Wolfe did not feel overwhelmed in the workplace. She would have happily skived this morning, and she would gladly do so tomorrow, given the opportunity. But she couldn't ask Hanssen to cover her again, or Serena to take on her workload. Not after them agreeing to split it between them, for both their sakes.

“What are you thinking about?” Serena asked, before she put the last forkful of curry in her mouth. Bernie sighed. She didn't want to say, because she knew Serena would take it as a red flag that her mental health was in a nose dive. “Bernie?”

“I want a break,” she murmured, taking a mouthful of food for something to chew while she processed how she wanted to say this. She didn't want to alarm Serena. After chewing for longer than was strictly necessary, she swallowed and said, “I just want to take time off work. I want to relax but I know if I take the time off work, I'll spend it alone, doing nothing, which is worse than being stressed out at work.”

“Take a trip away, then,” Serena suggested.

“Where am I going to go?” Bernie laughed harshly. “And who am I meant to go with? You think Hanssen is going to let me get time off if he knows I'm going away on my own? He doesn't trust me as far as he could kick me!” she ranted, realising too late that she sounded very bitter about Hanssen's lack of trust in her at the moment. It was, admittedly, very frustrating. She was a grown woman. She wasn't an idiot.

But she had tried to commit suicide. So could she really blame Hanssen for not trusting her with her own life?

Serena was oddly silent on the matter. Bernie figured she couldn't find a solution to this problem and thought nothing of it. The woman wasn't a miracle worker. She couldn't find away to give Bernie a break, convince Hanssen it was safe, take on AAU's workload singlehandedly and still find time to watch over Jason – and Bernie had no right whatsoever to ask that of her.

* * *

 

“Just press the bloody call button,” Serena snapped from the driver's seat of the car.

“It's only eight-thirty. They won't be open,” Bernie answered her.

“It's a medical centre, not a pub,” Serena snorted. “Get on with it and stop making excuses!” She knew Bernie wanted to get help. All that was needed was a gentle to moderate push in the right direction, because Bernie Wolfe was the sort to run from her problems. She might have been able to tackle a situation head on in the battlefield, but she was pretty useless at tackling this situation head on, along with any other situations that arose in any area of her life that weren't work.

Serena listened carefully to make sure Bernie was indeed making an appointment, and that she was stating it as urgent, and that she wasn't going to ask for one in a month's time – for all they knew, she might have been dead by then, and Serena would be damned if she was going to bury someone she loved because they decided to procrastinate.

And suddenly, it struck her. As she stopped for a red light, she realised how scared she really was about that. She had already lost Arthur this year, so she could do without any more deaths for a while, but that was not the only reason she dreaded the thought of Bernie's demise. She turned her head and watched Bernie's mouth move, asking for an appointment today or tomorrow if at all possible, that it didn't matter in the slightest what time of day it was going to be.

Serena watched Bernie's hands push back that mess of blonde hair from her face, and how she leaned against the car window with the phone pressed into her ear. She marvelled at how she knew this was not typical of Bernie at all, to physically lean on anything, to do anything else but sit with a straight back. How could she have memorised one person so well?

She watched Bernie's lips form the words, “Thank you. Have a nice day,” and realised she read them before she heard them. Normally she couldn't lip read to save her life but she could read Bernie's lips. She watched a thumb hit the red button that ended the phone call.

Serena reached out and touched Bernie's thumb as it lingered over the phone, lightly stroking with her own, like she had never seen it before. She grinned, for somehow she had expected it to vanish into thin air at her touch.

A horn blared through the moment, impatiently telling her to stop being daft. Slightly embarrassed, she turned back and focused on getting them to work in one piece.

“My appointment is at four-twenty today,” Bernie informed her.

“Good,” Serena said, worried now that she had shown far too much humanity and emotion in the presence of someone who could barely handle their own humanity and emotion.

The silence lingered heavy upon them, and Serena could tell there was something Bernie wanted to say. However, there was no point in her badgering Bernie; she would come out with it in her own time.

That silence was not broken until they drove into the hospital car park. “Will you go with me to the doctor?” Bernie blurted out.

“Oh,” Serena said, unable to hide her surprise at the question. “Uh, yes, of course.”

“Are you sure? I just need someone to make sure I actually go in. I'm a bit worried I might chicken out,” admitted Bernie. Serena pulled the car into her parking space and cut the engine.

“Of course I'm sure,” Serena said.

She hid her smile by turning to get out of the car; this was nothing to smile about, but she was glad Bernie trusted her enough to ask her to go along to something as important as this. She grabbed her belongings and waited for Bernie to do the same, and locked the car. Together they walked to the hospital, and Serena noticed how Bernie's feet landed on the ground, and how she always seemed to wear Converse. God, Serena hadn't worn them since she was at university.

She had known this before. Feeling a person right next to her. Seeing every little thing about them, feeling completely connected to them. Like she could never know who she was without them.

The last time this happened had been nearly thirty years ago. It had been Edward. It had been the moment she realised she had fallen for him. It had also been the moment she had stopped paying attention to her surroundings and almost kept walking over the edge of the platform, onto the Boston subway lines.

This was how Serena Campbell fell in love. Step by step, breath by breath, only noticing that she loved in some way, and then all at once.

She had fallen in love with Bernie Wolfe.

Broken, beautiful, bizarre Bernie Wolfe.

Serena had known she loved Bernie. She had known she couldn't do without her companionship. She had known the thought of losing her was paralysing. She had even known that this love went beyond anything she had ever felt for a friend. But to have it validated, to know she had _fallen in love_...for goodness' sake, what was she doing? This was awful timing. The confusion of it could only make Bernie feel worse than she already did.

This all made sense, as inconvenient as it was. It was why she had lain in bed last night and devised a plan to give Bernie the break she needed from work. It was why she had the perfect argument for Hanssen already formed in her head. It was why she automatically mobilised herself to meet Bernie's needs.

“Serena?!” Bernie's voice called out to her. “Serena, I wouldn't stand there if I were you! Big Swedish man in a big Swedish car right behind you!”

Serena shook her head to bring herself back to her home planet, and heard the purr of the engine behind her. She turned on the spot and looked to find Hanssen staring through the windscreen at her with a curious expression upon his face. Bernie must have run up to her, because Serena felt herself being pulled by the arm out of Hanssen's way. He drove past and parked his car, and Serena only just then realised that she had stopped dead in the middle of the road, so shocked by the feeling that had caused her soul to implode with love and fear, that she had wandered out without paying attention, and stopped altogether.

At this thought, she had to chuckle. “What?” Bernie asked, clearly concerned for Serena's sanity at this stage.

“Falling in love with Edward nearly got me killed, too,” she muttered with a grin. “Seems like it's not good for my health.”

She walked away, towards the hospital, and could hear Bernie's running footsteps and a shout of, “And I thought _I_ was mad! What the hell are you on about, Serena?!” But Serena just made for the coffee stand, torn between the elation of being in love, and the fear of the damage it could do.


	13. The Lifeguard

Serena sighed. What had she let herself in for? Falling in love? At her age? She wasn't a teenager. She wasn't young and naive and in love. She was...middle aged. And experienced. And in love. “Damn it,” she grumbled, staring out the open office door at Bernie as she stood between Morven and Fletch, examining an iPad with a look of deep concentration upon her face.

In six hours, give or take, they would be in the waiting room of the medical centre; part of Serena wanted to go into the appointment with Bernie. She wanted to make sure the GP was going to do the right thing, and that Bernie would not just be dismissed as a soldier struggling to move on from the Army. She wanted to know there was a plan in place to keep Bernie alive. She wanted to know that Bernie's courage would not be wasted, because it was often in short supply these days. She wanted to know – perhaps selfishly – that Bernie would be given real help, so that her own heart didn't have to shatter into tiny pieces. There were only three people in this world she could not do without: Ellie, Jason, and Bernie.

The image of a coffin, so similar to Arthur's, inscribed with Major Berenice Griselda Wolfe's name instead of his, flashed in her mind, and she had to repress the urge to throw up at the very thought. She could see Cameron and Charlotte, demanding to know why their mother was dead, through ferocious grief and rage. A headstone stood on a fresh mound of dirt, Bernie's name burning her eyes. And she heard Jason asking why Auntie Serena didn't save Bernie, because it's Auntie Serena's job to save people, and she wasn't really Auntie Serena if she didn't save someone she loved with everything she had.

She couldn't hold it down. The contents of her stomach burned her throat on the way up, and she dived for the bin next to her desk. Horribly aware that the door was open, she choked and retched until her body permitted her to stop. As she knelt there, her head in the bin, she finally knew how she would react if she had to lose Bernie to mental illness. “Serena!” Bernie's voice bellowed, and when Serena turned her head and looked out of the office door, she saw Bernie Wolfe barge her way through AAU, just to get to Serena Campbell.

Bernie trampled clumsily into the room, down at Serena's level with no hesitation, and Serena felt Bernie's hand rubbing her back soothingly.

“I'm fine,” Serena said, without being asked. She almost laughed when she said it. That was the lie she had so desperately wanted Bernie to stop telling, and here she was, coming out with the very same lie. That, however, did not mean she could ever tell Bernie what it was that made her empty her stomach into the waste paper bin. It would only make Bernie start trying to protect her again, and she didn't want that at all.

“But you just-”

“I thought that milk tasted funny at breakfast,” Serena cut her off. “You just be thankful you had toast and avoided the dodgy milk.”

The look of suspicion upon Bernie's face did not fade, but Serena made no more effort to sell her story. She knew that Bernie would either believe her or she wouldn't, and it seemed that Bernie could see right through her, probably for the first time.

“You can't kid a kidder,” she pointed out. Serena almost smiled. “You know you keep saying you don't need my protection? Well, I don't need yours,” Bernie told her sternly. “I might be a bit...unwell,” she said, though she seemed to resent the word, “but I'm a big girl. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Serena's gaze upon Bernie was intense, and she knew it; everything she felt and did this morning seemed to be unduly intense, and yet there was nothing there to stop that from happening. This feeling of being in love, this dread of losing the subject of her love, was so hard to keep buried. “I...” Serena began, but seeing Bernie hang onto her words caused her to falter. Bernie was so clearly worried, but what if she hated Serena for thinking this, for feeling it? It was so out of the ordinary for her, so out of character, that Bernie might perceive it as unforgivable weakness.

And then their eyes met, and beneath Bernie's worry was reassurance. More than that. It was a _need_ to reassure. That need would not allow Bernie to leave the subject alone, so wasn't it better to spit it out now rather than leave it for later?

“I thought about...” Serena said. “I thought about what would happen if you had died. If Jac Naylor hadn't got to you before you got to the roof.”

Bernie was silent.

“And for a moment, I got to feel what it would be like to lose you.” Bernie still did not speak, and Serena didn't like it. “Say something.”

Bernie stared at the bin. “And that...that's what it would do to you?” she asked, pointing at the bin. Serena nodded. “You're quite attached to me, aren't you?”

At this, Serena got to her feet. She did not think this was headed in a safe direction at all. How could she tell Bernie that she – a historically completely straight person – had fallen in love with her, to the point that the thought of burying her made her violently sick? How was she meant to say that and not cause more conflict in Bernie's mind. So she looked at her watch, and she made an excuse. “I'm late for a meeting with Hanssen,” she invented, and walked out the room without another words or backwards glance.

And to Hanssen was where she was headed, because if ever there had been a time she needed to be in that looming giant's presence to suck all the calm energy from him, it was now. So she got in the lift and she pressed the button, and got out on the fifth floor. She walked straight into Hanssen's office, to find him sitting opposite Ric Griffin.

“Oh, Ms. Campbell, please do come in,” Hanssen said, his tone a hundred percent dry sarcasm. That sarcasm didn't extend to his face, though. His face told that he was in fact troubled by her sudden appearance, while Ric just looked like he had missed the punchline of whatever joke just walked into the room.

Serena paced the length of the room, back and forth, barely noticing that the two men were staring at her, torn between amusement and concern. “What's wrong, Serena?” Ric asked hesitantly.

Serena stopped walking, and she realised she had to say it out loud to someone, or she was going to end up saying it to Bernie at precisely the wrong time. “Berenice _bloody_ Wolfe,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“What about her?” Ric replied, quite urgently.

She turned to face them. “I've fallen in love with her,” she declared, not knowing whether it had made the feeling of madness in her chest better or worse.

“Well, yes, I knew that,” Hanssen said, “but what's wrong?”

“I'm not a lesbian,” she retorted, alert to the fact she was now discussing her sexuality with the two men she had worked with longest at this hospital. “I've only ever been in relationships with men and then I go and fall in love with a bloody woman!”

“Does it matter that Ms. Wolfe is a woman?” Hanssen calmly asked her; Ric sat in his chair looking utterly dumbfounded by the news that Serena Campbell was in love with a woman. “Are you attracted to the fact she is a woman, or are you attracted to her because she is Berenice bloody Wolfe?” Serena glared at him, though she was somewhat amused by his choice of words.

It was a fair question. And really, she didn't feel this way about any other woman. Essie, or Jac, or Zosia, or Mo, or Morven, could walk in right now and she would feel the slightest hint of attraction to them. When she loved Bernie, her gender didn't even come into it. She just loved Bernie. “It's her,” Serena answered. “It's just _her_.”

“You are allowed to be attracted to more than one gender, you know,” Ric finally piped up.

The way he said it, it sounded so simple. Was it really that simple? Was she, the woman who had been married to a man and had his child, who had relationships only with men, whose previous attractions were solely towards men, simply just in love with a woman? Was life allowed to do that to her? Was the universe allowed to say to her, “Oh, here's the love of your life but remember she has PTSD and you have a history of major depression, so be careful there, and, oh yeah, the love of your life just happens to be a woman.”

Yes, it seemed the universe was indeed allowed to do that to her. And if she was going to have Bernie, she had to accept that.

“Have you calmed down yet?” Hanssen asked, and she could have smacked him for how entertained he appeared to be.

Serena took a deep breath and replied, “Yes. Yes, I've calmed down. And I've come to ask if Bernie and I can have ten days off, starting Monday.”

“For?”

“She's going to her GP this afternoon, and they'll likely give her medication and a psych referral, but it'll take psych ages to give her an appointment. She needs a break, Henrik,” Serena explained. “She needs time away.”

“And you need time off because...” Ric prompted.

“Because Bernie can't be trusted to be on her own just now,” snapped Serena impatiently. She'd assumed he had heard about Bernie's meltdown on AAU, and her strange behaviour of late, but clearly not. “She's not well.”

Henrik looked directly at Serena and said, “I'll sort it out with HR for you. If necessary, I will work any shifts that go uncovered. If the Board has a problem with that, they need educated on how a hospital runs.”

“I'll do a couple of shifts if it's needed, too,” Ric offered, finally being helpful.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

The lights were too bright. The waiting room was too quiet. The receptionist was typing too loudly. This was too hard.

Every inch of Bernie burned to stand up and walk out of there. She had sat here for five minutes and resisted that urge but she could no longer sit here. She needed to face up to the fact that she did not have the bravery required to do this. It was not something she was capable of doing. The only problem with her desire to walk away right now was that Serena had driven, and so Bernie needed her to drive back – something she knew perfectly well Serena would not consent to doing.

Stuff it. She'd call a taxi. Get on a bus. Walk, if she had to. She just could not stay here.

She stood up and she moved. One foot in front of the other, that was all it took. It was easy to keep moving. Taking steps was easy. The thing that killed her was standing still. If she was still, she had to survey the wreckage, and she couldn't bring herself to do that.

Unfortunately, Bernie didn't get to the door. Serena caught up with her too quickly. “Bernie, please stay,” she said; it was painful, how sincere Serena was when it came to how she thought Bernie could be helped.

“I can't,” Bernie whispered. “Please try to understand, Serena. I _can't_.”

“I do understand. That's why I want you to stay. Do you really think I had the courage to get help before the damage was done? Do you think Edward noticed I was depressed before I was lying half-dead in the emergency room? Of course not! I understand perfectly, and that's why I need you to stay here,” Serena rambled, her voice hushed so as not to disturb the quiet of their surroundings.

“I'm not you.”

“And I don't want to be Edward!” hissed Serena. “I don't want to be where he was all those years ago, because I care about you more than he ever cared about me. Maybe it's selfish but I don't particularly want to live without you! I don't want to be sitting in the ED relatives' room while Connie Beauchamp tries to resuscitate you and Charlie Fairhead tries to convince me there was nothing I could do! This is going to _kill you_!”

“What if I don't care?” Bernie challenged her, trying to ignore the desperate pain in Serena's voice. “What if I don't care about being dead, because it's easier than this? I don't have the energy left for this.”

Serena's hands were on her face, pulling her down a little so their noses touched. “Then use my energy. Take it. If it's going to get you into that appointment, if it's going to keep you alive, then take whatever you need from me.”

From those big brown eyes, waves of tears crashed over Serena. It was not typical of Serena, though she was capable of showing more emotion than Bernie was, to start crying like this. Could she really be this loved? Could someone actually love Bernie Wolfe enough to do this, to say these things?

“We're not going to work on Monday,” Serena said, still crying. “We're going on holiday. We're going away, just like you wanted. But if you don't go in there, I'm so scared you won't be here on Monday. I want to be going away with you, not throwing up in bins because you're dead. I don't want to be explaining to your kids how you took your own life. I don't want to be-”

“Sshh,” Bernie hushed her gently, unnerved by this outpouring of emotion. She touched Serena's head, the soft, brown hair underneath her hands, and said, “Calm down, Serena. I'm here. I'm not dead.”

“And what if there's no Jac the next time? What if there's no Hanssen to notice what you're about to do?”

Bernie did not say anything, because she did not have the answer. Well, she did, but she didn't want to vocalise it and make Serena feel even worse than she already did. The obvious answer was that if, the next time she made an attempt on her own life, there was no Jac or Hanssen to save her, she would be dead.

She would be dead. Her children would be motherless. Her Serena would be horrifically grief-stricken.

“Berenice Wolfe?!” a voice called out. It was Bernie's GP.

“Come in with me,” Bernie found herself whispering earnestly to Serena. “I can't do it on my own. Come with me.”

A watery grin broke across Serena's face, and she took Bernie's hands into hers. Bernie, however, seemed to be rendered of independent movement. Rooted to the spot, she could not move in either direction. But Serena was themoon to her tide of anxiety, and pulled her by the hand towards the waiting doctor. Even now, it was Serena, her own personal lifeguard, who made sure she did not drown. It was Serena who gave her the strength to swim in the strongest of currents and the deepest and darkest of waters.

It was Serena, and it was always going to be her, who gave Bernie the wisdom, the love, the courage and the determination to keep her own head above the waves that tried to roll her under.


End file.
